Love Bug
by ya-fic
Summary: Scully's blind date with a charming doctor leads our favorite FBI agents to an unexpected X-File and forces them to confront their own feelings for each other. Season 6. Just before The Unnatural.
1. Blind Date?

**Author's Note:** I never imagined the fluffiest piece I've ever written to be an X-Files fic, but I guess that's how it's turned out. I started watching the X-Files for the first time this summer (thank you Netflix). This story is set somewhere in the 6th season (thanks Trycee), maybe just a little before The Unnatural. I apologize now if I break any canon norms or just totally screw something up.

"First date?" the hostess asked Scully as she led her through the crowded Italian restaurant.

"Uh huh."

"Blind date?" the girl pressed.

Scully sighed. "How can you tell?"

The hostess ignored that question, but answered one that probably seemed more relevant in the mind of the pretty college-aged co-ed. "Don't worry. He's totally cute."

"It's not him I'm worried about," Scully mumbled as she smoothed her new skirt.

The garment was different from most of the skirts she owned not due to color—the charcoal gray fit perfectly into her ever-darkening wardrobe. What distinguished this particular piece of clothing was that it lacked a partner. Scully purchased it alone, as a single item, without a matching jacket. Yet the acquisition was not as simple as it seemed.

Comparatively, this skirt was high maintenance. It required the owner to have some sense of fashion and coordination, to find a top that went perfectly without taking away from its own loveliness—or from its owner's.

That, and it was above the knee. A rare, daring choice for Scully, but paired with black heels and the red blouse she'd chosen from the group of shirts at the back of her closet that she reserved strictly for social situations—a collection that hadn't been accessed in quite some time—the result wasn't half-bad.

"Are you kidding me? Girl, you look smokin' hot. No joke."

Scully's laugh was more of a chuckle than a scoff. The statement's lack of merit wasn't even worth the skepticism. The hostess mistook her complete lack of belief as good humor and responded with an encouraging grin.

Scully had no idea why she'd put so much effort into her appearance for a date who was bound to be a dud. Before she had the chance to completely talk herself out of the whole thing, the hostess stopped at a table and pulled out a chair for her. Just like that, she found herself seated across from the pleasantly surprising Nathan Riley.

"Totally cute" didn't quite do him justice. Nathan was tall, dark and handsome in a way to which Scully had absolutely no objections. His green eyes sparkled when he flashed her a smile and stood up out of his chair. He nodded politely, pressing his red tie against his dark dress shirt, then took his seat again.

"You must be Dana."

"Yes."

"You look beautiful."

"Oh, thanks. So do you. I mean, you look handsome," she stammered as a blush burst onto her cheeks. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, opting for honesty, "You'll have to forgive me. When it comes to dating, I'm a bit out of practice."

"Likewise. I haven't been on a date in… years."

Knowing this put Scully at ease. Or maybe it was the wine that flowed so steadily before they had even put in their order. Either way, she felt perfectly comfortable talking to Nathan—so much so that she couldn't quite believe this match had been orchestrated by her mother who had never even suggested the idea of fixing her up before. Perhaps it was beginner's luck.

"My mother tells me you're a doctor," Scully commented as an attentive, but wisely quiet waiter delivered a little more wine to their glasses.

"My mother said the exact same thing about you," he teased with feigned accusation, "but she never said exactly what sort of medicine you practice."

Scully laughed down into her wine glass as she took another sip.

"I don't."

"Lose your license?" he joked.

"No. I'm an agent with the FBI. I investigate… crimes."

She hesitated before looking up for his reaction. His brows were arched curiously, but not judgmentally. His smile was impressed. "Wow."

"It's not as exciting as it sounds."

"That's what I say about my job, too," Nathan told her, "when I don't want to explain it."

Scully bit her lip. She was busted and she knew it. And, in a way, she sort of liked it.

"Well, that's just it," Scully said. "It's not exactly the type of thing you can explain."

"Now I'm intrigued," Nathan confessed, leaning forward in his seat.

His desire for more details, along with an inspirational smile and intense eye contact, turned the blush on Scully's cheek into a fiery flush that spread down past her neck and beyond the borders of the shirt, now just a few shades deeper than her own flesh.

Scully spoke slowly. "My partner and I investigate unsolved, unusual cases."

Nathan laughed. "No kidding?"

Despite the nature of the question, Scully was surprised to find his tone totally devoid of disbelief, but she'd yet to fully explain the nature of her work.

"You won't believe this," Nathan's words were now just a bit more cautious, "but that's precisely what I do."

Scully doubted Nathan's career in medicine could "precisely" mirror her own work with the X-files, but even just the chance of a peripheral connection drew her in. "How do you mean?"

"My cases aren't crimes, of course. They're unusual medical conditions with symptoms others have been unable to diagnose. My partner and I—"

"You have a practice dedicated to this?"

"Oh, no. We're actually employees of Fairfax County. Our office is located in the county medical complex," he explained, "but I call her my partner because she's much more than a colleague. Meredith is my better half. She keeps me balanced."

Meredith. Scully tried to keep the crinkle between her brow from forming, but it came despite her efforts to convince herself that jealousy was beyond premature.

"Professionally speaking, of course," Nathan asserted in response to her scowl.

Scully smiled, embarrassed to be so easily read. Hoping to divert Nathan's attention to something else, Scully said, "I'd love to hear more about your work."

Nathan hesitated. It was the same pause Scully gave before explaining her own job to someone she knew was smart enough to see past the extraneous details she used to disguise the true nature of the X-files. Now it was Scully's turn to be intrigued.

"Okay, well, you see," Nathan hedged, "People come to us when they're ill and other doctors have been unable to find the cause. While my specialties are interpreting symptoms and choosing appropriate testing, Meredith is better at…"

"The weird stuff?" Scully supplied after it didn't seem Nathan knew how to fill in the blank.

"Yes. Quite weird stuff, actually. Her hunches seem to come out of left field, yet she's very often correct. She also believes in treatments no other doctors, myself included, give credence. Acupuncture, reflexology, Eastern medicine..."

Scully raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Nathan smiled and nodded as if she were perfectly proving his point. "Exactly."

"My partner believes in aliens." Scully's delivery was deadpan, a monotone that would put even Mulder to shame, allowing room for the interpretation of her statement as a joke.

Nathan's response was perfectly serious. "Meredith thoroughly checks each patient for implants, presumably of an extraterrestrial origin, though she's not above a good government conspiracy theory."

"Has she ever found anything?" After she'd blurted it out, Scully convinced herself she'd asked the question strictly on Mulder's behalf.

"Not so far."

"And you don't think she ever will?"

Nathan considered this question as if it were one he often asked himself. "No. I don't think so, but I suppose Meredith has taught me to be…"

"Open to the possibility?" Scully suggested, already knowing his response.

"Yes. Exactly."

Scully stared at Nathan, their work-related kinship overwhelming her.

"Dana, are you and your partner busy tomorrow?"

"Meeting in the morning."

"Free for lunch?"

"Sure."

"Perfect. How do you feel about hospital cafeteria food?"

More chapters coming soon!

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	2. Indian Food?

While Mulder was quite the fan of surprises, he wasn't particularly in the mood to be surprised today, especially when it involved food. He conveyed this information to Scully as she drove him to an undisclosed lunch location in Fairfax County.

"It's not Indian food is it? Because while I love Indian food, it's not a great midday meal for me. Have you ever felt like your entire stomach was trying to evacuate your body through your—"

"It's not Indian food. It's not even about the food, okay, Mulder?"

"But there will be food, right?"

Scully wondered if Mulder qualified green Jell-o as a food because she sure didn't. In the end, she opted to ignore his question entirely with the hopes that Mulder's very short conversational attention span would be on her side. It was her lucky day.

"Oh, hey, so I meant to ask. How was the big date?" It wasn't just that he 'meant to ask;" Mulder wanted to ask, needed to ask, was dying to ask.

"It was great. Thanks for asking," Scully answered concisely.

Mulder nodded and stared out the window. Great? Great.

Scully found his low-key and less-than-inquisitive reaction puzzling, but she wasn't going to argue. She didn't want to give away too much about Nathan's work just yet, and she certainly wasn't interested in telling Mulder all the details of the kiss they'd shared at the end of the evening. She had no problem recounting them to herself, however.

Mulder glanced over at Scully and instantly took note of the small smile she obviously meant to share only with herself. He wondered if she was thinking of the previous night. Perhaps this guy, this Doctor Nathan Who-ever, had scored a kiss as he walked Scully to her car.

Scully remembered the way Nathan had, as the two of them stood by her open car door, first touched her cheek as if asking for permission to proceed. With no protest made, he'd completed the action smoothly, leaning down chivalrously so that she simply had to stand there and be kissed. When his lips finally left hers, she found herself fulfilled by a level of personal contact she'd been years without.

Mulder hoped it was simply good conversation and better wine that caused her to blush even now as they sat in silence, but he doubted it. Then he thought of something else he wanted to ask and since, as usual, his filter was limited to blocking out only that which would embarrass himself, the words tumbled easily out of his mouth. "Did you sleep with this guy or something?"

Scully was genuinely appalled by the question. "God, Mulder. Really?"

"I just wanted to say that you shouldn't rush into anything, that's all."

"Noted."

"Sorry," Mulder apologized genuinely, the filter stuttering back into operation as he now began to feel embarrassed on his own behalf.

As much as Scully understood Mulder, sometimes she just didn't get him. She couldn't see why he would even be interested in her dating life as a whole, much less her sex life. She certainly wasn't interested in his. Except, she realized, that couldn't be true considering where she was taking him… and for what purpose.

"The answer to the question you better not ever even think about asking me again is no, by the way," she confessed. "I'm just telling you this time so that, in the future, you can rest assured I'm not usually a do-it-on-the-first-date kind of girl."

"Not usually?"

"Not usually."

"One thing?"

"Hmm?" She forced out, truly not wanting to inquire.

"You're not a 'girl' at all, Scully. You're a woman—a beautiful, amazing woman—who deserves to be treated with respect. That's all I was getting at before."

Scully nodded, confused and left not quite knowing what to think about Mulder's compliment. She assumed it was just his way of trying to weasel out of being pegged as a pervert, but he seemed earnest enough. It bordered on bizarre.

"Think you'll go on a second date?"

In Scully's mind, the conversation had now surpassed bizarre and turned into its own little micro x-file. "Isn't there a case or something we could talk about instead?"

"Because if you're going to start seeing someone, I think I have a right to know."

Now he was starting to piss her off. "How do you figure?"

"Look, I know you had your own brothers to protect you, but I never got to have that experience with my sister—butting into her dating life, vetting her boyfriends, punching out anyone who put the moves on her—"

"So, what you're saying, Mulder, just for clarification, is that you're asking me all of these uncomfortably personal questions because you care about me."

"Right."

"Like a brother."

"Right," Mulder replied again, hoping Scully had missed the split-second hesitation of his second affirmation. While he had never thought of a label for his fondness of Scully beyond "partner," the phrase "like a brother"—though he was the one who had implied it—suddenly rubbed him the wrong way. He thought of something slightly less offensive. "Or, you know, like a best friend."

"You think you're my best friend, Mulder?" she asked a bit harshly considering she legitimately wanted to know the answer.

"No, actually, I have no idea how you view me, Scully."

This was interesting because Scully had never actually ascribed any name to Mulder beyond "partner." She didn't know exactly how she viewed him either. She had never even genuinely considered it. She'd made the appropriate denials of "husband," "boyfriend," or "lover" when such accusations arose, but they never lingered in her mind, demanding she come up with some other, special title for Mulder. Granted, there wasn't anyone who knew her better and, likewise, there wasn't anyone she knew better. But who was he? What was he? He was just… Mulder, her partner.

"Partner," Scully told him truthfully. "That's how I view you."

"Professional." Mulder forced out with a light tone and fake smile.

"Well, how do you view me?" she demanded, sure his own classification couldn't be too far from her own.

"Partner," he said, drumming his fingers against the car door, "and best friend. You're definitely my best friend, Scully, even if I'm not yours."

For just a moment, Scully turned her eyes from the road to Mulder.

He gave her half a smile—his best pouty and guilt-inducing smile—then broke eye contact. "Partner first, though. Always partner first."

"Are you being serious right now? Because I have some pretty sincere reactions to what you've just said to me, Mulder, but I want to be sure I'm not responding to some sort of sick attempt at humor, some joke whose punch line you're holding back."

Mulder had a way of murdering serious conversation with his weapons of choice: bad jokes and irreverent jest. Many times, Scully appreciated the levity, but just as often, she did not. In this particular case, she quite hoped Mulder would grant her this rare moment of insight into thoughts that, for once, didn't revolve around monsters, aliens or the foulest of play. On the contrary, these had the potential to be intimately personal details that gave away hints at something beyond his boyhood dreams or penchant for porn. These were the moments Scully hoped for with Mulder, the infrequent and fleeting glimpses into what she felt was a bigger mystery to her than anything she'd ever encountered in an X-file.

"I assure you, Scully, there's nothing funny about my feelings of… friendship toward you," Mulder promised, though his feelings were, in an altogether different way, funny and, at this particular juncture, confusingly sober.

Scully drove the car deep into the Fairfax County Medical Facility's underground parking garage without speaking, hoping for a smooth ride to keep this conversation afloat.

Then the front wheels of the car slammed into a speed bump.

"Why are we at a hospital?" Mulder asked as the back wheels unevenly bounced over the momentum-halting hump of concrete. "Are you finally having me committed?"

There it was: his subtle shift away from the topic at hand. Scully felt disappointment as she swung the car into an open space and slipped the gearshift into park. She faced forward with folded arms and glanced sideways at him, her own version of his pout.

"What?" he asked, unable to resist a smile at the contemptuous expression she wore despite the fact that he was the one who had no clue why they were at a hospital when she'd promised him lunch. She'd better not have thought he'd let Jell-o pass as food. That was as unacceptable as… the mix of feelings he was letting creep out of his subconscious emotional lockbox and into his conscious thought stream.

Scully's glare intensified under his silence. From his stupid grin, she figured he had some zinger ready to sling in her direction. She wanted to cut her losses and go inside, her stomach releasing a small handful of butterflies at the thought of seeing Nathan here today. But as Mulder stayed put, staring at her like a smiling (or perhaps smirking) idiot, Scully felt compelled to sit tight and hope for the best.

When Scully added in an arched eyebrow to her already dubious look, Mulder's smile evolved into a full-fledged grin. Man, did he love that face: the skeptic, the scientist, the fact-monger. The woman who never seemed to believe anything he had to say, yet so often put her faith in him completely.

"What?" she finally questioned him back, mimicking his tone a little too well.

"You were the one who had something to say, Scully—something 'sincere,' as I recall."

Scully blinked a few times, as she often did when she wanted to put off words that had not quite solidified in her brain. Whatever she'd wanted to say to Mulder—the vessel for prolonging the potentially revealing exchange—was still messy in her mind, still forming in the proverbially primordial soup that sloshed just behind the well-guarded mental blockade she kept up when she was with her… partner.

"I guess," Scully began as the words came to her, "when I say that I view you as my 'partner,' the word doesn't hold the same sterile connotation that it does for you. To me, being your partner is like being your friend, but with—"

"Benefits?" he asked, his tone dripping with mock lasciviousness.

"Loyalty," she pressed on because she wanted to tell him this, needed to tell him this, was dying to tell him this. "And trust. I'm talking about camaraderie that goes well beyond what even the best of friends feel for each other. And, though neither of has been overly forthcoming with our inner most emotions over the years, I think our feelings of…friendship, as you put it, are equally matched."

Though Sally Field's you-like-me-you-really-like-me speech came instantly to mind, Mulder resisted the urge to offer an imitation, mainly because he was afraid he may not be able to lay on enough sarcasm to mask the earnestness behind the words.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say, Mulder, is that I like you," Scully said, her smile intentionally begrudging, "I also care about you, and I… like… that… you care about me."

Scully knew that no matter what Mulder said—or, perhaps in this case, didn't say—he wouldn't judge her. It just wasn't something he did. Even though, with his background, he probably understood her motivations and reactions better than she did, he never forced her to explain herself nor did he offer his own unsolicited analysis. He would never tell her that the unwavering faith she put in him was probably more like co-dependence. He would hold back pointing out that this pseudo-partnership—and very real friendship—to which she clung was just a surrogate for the real, romantic relationship for which she longed.

But Scully was wrong. Mulder wasn't analyzing her words. He was too busy enjoying them. She'd verbalized what he, just a second before, had hoped she'd meant. But he crashed down quickly from the high as he realized that where his level of intensity was burning hot, hers was only lukewarm. She liked him. He was her friend just as she was his, but, for her, it was nothing more. It was nothing like what he felt for her, a burning fire that would not be so easily extinguished.

A flush spread across Mulder's face as the realization smacked his brain and sucker-punched his gut. Somewhere between D.C. and Fairfax County Medical Facility, Mulder had admitted what his heart had always subtly suggested and his mouth had sometimes admitted only in jest: he was wholly and indisputably in love with Dana Scully.


	3. Blushing?

Mulder had made no effort to respond to her declaration of friendship, but this was altogether unsurprising to Scully. He had absolutely no sense of the give-and-take required in normal information-imparting conversation. He would nonchalantly tell her "aliens exist" or "there's a werewolf prowling around Miami" or "Scully, you're my best friend" with very little context and even less additional information. If she wanted more details, she had to chase him out of the office and, usually, onto an airplane. In this case, restrained in a car at an unfamiliar location, he opted for uninformative silence. But when she snuck a peek at him, she was startled by his appearance.

"Mulder, are you all right?" Scully asked, sincerely concerned. "You look… sick."

If his cheeks weren't so red, she might have said he looked a little green. She reached over to feel his forehead with the back of her hand. It wasn't exactly scientific, but it did well enough to tell her he didn't have a fever. She slipped her fingers down his cheek, finding the fiery heat to be well contained. Was he blushing?

"Scully, I'm fine," Mulder lied as he placed a hand over hers, pressing it reassuringly into his treacherous cheek, but the blazing hot fire could not be smoldered. "Really."

Of course, Scully knew Mulder well enough to know he was lying, but the distraction of his touch prevented her from calling him on it. He slid his hand down hers and wrapped his fingers gently around her wrist, a tender restraint that he used to pull her hand from his face. But he didn't release her; he held on, letting his touch linger, a stray pinky sliding across the softest, inner part of her wrist.

With absolutely no premeditation, Mulder clung loosely to Scully's wrist, relishing in the way she made no efforts to pull away from him. Then again, as touchy-feely as he tended to be, he hardly ever found her backing away from his touch, especially not when they were alone like this.

Mulder often invaded Scully's personal space and she was used to his loitering physical contact, but this was something different, something more than a hand on the small of her back as he led her from a room or a consoling hug after a stressful bad guy takedown. This was so much more, in fact, that instead an innocent rose that started on the apples of her cheeks, it was a sinful scarlet which spread quickly from her chest to her neck before finally bursting onto her face. If she believed in out-of-body experiences, she imagined this is what it would feel like—hovering just outside of her own situation, there-but-not-there.

Caught in the tracking beam of her inquisitive stare, Mulder could do nothing, could not move or even consider releasing her arm. He simply gazed at Scully. This inaction, one of which he was fully aware—but couldn't, for the life of him, switch off—made him think of Holman the weatherman. Mulder had told Holman he was perfectly content with Scully's friendship, but even then, the words, though they had just the right ring, felt completely wrong. But this? This was just right.

Scully had felt this magnetic pull once before, in the hallway outside of Mulder's apartment just before she'd been stung by a bee that set off a series of events she was glad she could only partially recall. Even the moment itself was like a vague dream now. She could remember intending to leave, wanting but not wanting to walk away and leave it all behind. Then she was stopping, frozen in place, hearing the words that validated all her years of faithful dedication to Mulder. Each step she'd consider taking toward him, he'd had the courage to take first until he was standing right in front of her, yet it wasn't close enough. Scully considered how he'd taken every cue, how he'd wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her in as her body requested the reassurance her mind already had. To return the gesture, to offer comfort, she'd kissed his forehead.

For the first time, she allowed herself to think a little further down the timeline, to the way they'd held onto each other, looked at each other, wanted each other. That was a piece Scully didn't know she was missing. Her memory of that moment had never been so clear, and she knew now that she'd wanted him then. Then she knew something even more unsettling: she wanted him now.

In his mind, Mulder was replaying the same scene, but in his final cut, there was no bee. There was no horrifying journey that led him to the ends of this world (and perhaps to the fringes of another) in order to save his partner from the clutches of the monsters that would wholly consume their lives in the months to follow. In his version, so different from the divergent paths his mind normally took, there was simply a boy and a girl and a kiss. He imagined it for the first time, then imagined it again, thinking of how he would pick her up and take her back to his apartment—but Mulder cut himself off and felt embarrassment creep back onto his face. Oddly, in his gut, he felt nothing out of place.

Scully wondered how many times before she had overlooked moments like this with Mulder—like the time in the hallway where she now knew for certain she would have kissed him had they not been interrupted. Furthermore, she hoped Mulder had never caught what she had so clearly been missing over the years.

Though just seconds passed, a lifetime's—or at least a partnership's—worth of walls, denials and paradigms cracked, faded and shifted. But Scully was confused and Mulder was scared, and when he released her wrist, they both felt compelled to escape.


	4. Dr Foster?

In the hospital parking garage, as they fell in step with one another, neither thought about where they were or why. In fact, neither thought at all. Instead it was feeling—intense emotionality—that floated in the air between them.

Though they'd walked the 30 yards to the elevator, they were both genuinely surprised by its _ding_ when they arrived. A man, a doctor, tired from a long shift, stepped out and walked between them, breaking the spell and bringing them back to reality. Though the fluorescents in the elevator were dim, when they entered, both blinked as if stepping into harsh-bright sunlight. And then they were themselves once more, emotions momentarily in-check, stowed away for later reflection.

"Scully, I want you to know, this has 'worst lunch date ever' written all over it."

Scully, relieved to hear his harmless jab come in such a customary tone, offered him nothing more than a mysterious smile as the elevator reached its destination.

From the time he'd agreed to get in the car with Scully, Mulder had thought little about where she was actually taking him, but as they walked down the medical facility's corridors, his curiosity was suddenly piqued. He wondered if she had stumbled upon something X-File-worthy, something he could throw himself into, lose himself in. He so badly needed a distraction.

Dr. Meredith Foster was perfect. With her long blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin and freckle-spattered cheeks, she was the poster-girl for her native Australia. In her heels, she was as tall as Mulder. Her glasses and lab coat opposed her super-model posture and gait in contradictorily appealing ways even a geeky school boy's best wet dreams couldn't rival.

She was also smart, a bit of a prodigy in her field. While those unfamiliar with her brilliant discoveries, unaware of her contributions to modern science, looked down on her unusual methodologies and eccentric medical practices, those who were privileged enough to witness her diagnose and cure a patient had only the utmost respect for this out-of-the-box doc.

These were not merely Mulder's observations as made his way toward Foster across a crowded cafeteria, but rather points of recognition, tidbits he'd picked up from reading articles she'd written about her work in what Mulder liked to think of as fringe medicine. The most useful information, though, naturally came from the Lone Gunmen's full spread on her body… of work.

"Dr. Foster?" Mulder asked when he finally reached her. He wondered how Scully had managed to track her down and for what purpose.

"Do I know you?" Meredith asked, looking him over with a critical, but friendly eye.

"You already know her?" Scully asked when she managed to catch up.

She was almost out of breath from nearly sprinting across the cafeteria after Mulder as he made his way to Nathan and, presumably, his partner Meredith.

As Mulder stood there, not answering either woman, he noticed another man next to Dr. Foster, a presence he only detected because this person, this handsome and undoubtedly charming doctor, leaned down and put his lips to Scully's cheek with infuriating familiarity. Though he knew it was unfair and unfounded, Mulder hated him instantly. When he looked up and met eyes with Dr. Foster he found a similar sentiment mirrored and, thus, he found a friend.

"Dr. Foster, my name is Fox Mulder. I've been following your work for the past year."

Perhaps it had been the twists and turns her life tended to take, but Scully was suddenly suspicious. It had been Nathan's idea to introduce Mulder to Meredith. Maybe the whole thing, their initial date included, had been an elaborate hoax to bring Mulder here. Meredith's genuine surprise seemed to suggest coincidence over conspiracy, but Scully couldn't force away her natural skepticism.

"Fox Mulder?" Meredith asked with upturned lips.

"He goes by Mulder," Scully explained.

"Hang on a tick," Meredith said as she turned to Nathan, "Your date from last night, Dana, is actually Dana Scully of the FBI?"

The puzzle quickly pieced itself together in Mulder's mind. The man was Dr. Nathan Riley, Dr. Foster's closest colleague. Dr. Nathan Riley also happened to be Dr. Nathan Who-ever, Scully's date. Scully and Dr. Riley had, for some reason, conspired to set him up with Dr. Foster for a reason Mulder could only hope was related to work, his or hers.

"You know Dana?" Nathan questioned Meredith.

"Of," Meredith corrected. "Just as I know _of_ Agent Mulder here."

"And," Mulder interjected, but directed toward Scully, "Just like I know _of_ Dr. Foster and Dr. Riley."

"In that case," Nathan smoothed, "I suppose Dana and I won't have to explain why we thought the two of you should meet."

As Mulder arched a questioning eyebrow in Scully's direction, she knew it was just for show. By now, his brilliant mind, one wasted on a mystery this simple, had figured out that he was being setup on a bizarre blind date in a hospital cafeteria. What was even stranger to Scully was that he didn't seem to object at all. His eyes had drifted to Meredith, and his interest was plain enough. And so Scully hated Meredith despite herself, just as she had hated Agent Diana Fowley. It was a hatred based in jealousy, she knew, but for what reason, she could not yet fully admit.

Mulder knew this little fix-up was all Dr. Riley's doing. Scully was no meddler. She rarely pressed when it came to personal matters. She hardly ever even asked. And she certainly didn't match-make. But, it seemed, in this case anyway, she at least approved. So, though it was Scully he wanted in a way with which he was overwhelmed and inexperienced, it was Dr. Meredith Foster he was willing to pursue—as far and as long as Scully consented.


	5. Friday Night?

After a long lunch that involved little eating, Mulder sincerely wished he could force himself into love. Dr. Foster was the perfect woman. Not only that; she was also the perfect woman for him. She was sharp and imaginative, intuitive and passionate, interested in finding the truth regardless of how outside the accepted norms her search led her. Unfortunately, Mulder's mind caught the one thing that made it impossible for him to admire Dr. Foster for anything beyond her work, one flaw that made all the difference: she wasn't Scully.

Sitting beside Mulder and across from Nathan at a rectangular table in the hospital cafeteria, Scully had attempted to tune out the animated and impassioned discussion unfolding next to her so that she could focus on her own conversation with Nathan about far more practical topics-for example, the location of their next date. He had invited her to accompany him to the annual Medical Researchers' Gala the following night. It would be black tie and formal, a fairly big deal and well outside her comfort zone.

"Never accept a date for Friday night on Thursday afternoon," Mulder chimed in, as if quoting some arcane dating manual.

He smiled playfully at Scully, and though she tried hard not to get sucked in, she couldn't fight off her reciprocal smile.

"So I shouldn't bother inviting you then?" Meredith lightheartedly taunted Mulder.

"It would be my pleasure to accompany you," he answered with a warm smile.

"Hypocrite," Scully accused as she bumped her shoulder into Mulder's.

"Meredith and I should probably be getting back to work, but, Dana, the Gala starts at seven-thirty so I can pick you up around—"

"I can bring her," Mulder suggested. "Then we can all just meet up at seven-thirty. I mean, if that's okay with everyone?"

"Sounds practical enough," Scully agreed.

As they wrapped up and exchanged phone numbers and plans, Mulder and Scully both looked forward to Friday night.


	6. Stick Shift?

Mulder walked up the steps of Scully's building dressed in a tuxedo, an item of clothing he'd never owned nor planned to purchase. This particular tux, like the few he'd worn over the years, was a rental, completely standard issue and entirely utilitarian. Somehow, the clip-on tie request had been ignored by the girl at the shop; thus, Mulder was left with an unruly bowtie that he hadn't yet attempted to tame.

When Scully answered her door, ready and waiting for Mulder, she found him standing on the other side with his tie in one hand and a single red rose in the other. Even with the bow missing from his neck, he looked devastatingly handsome and all too debonair. Scully's swoon was entirely mental, but when he reached out to offer her the rose, she was suddenly, and for the first time fully, aware of the physical attraction she felt toward her partner.

As Scully stepped aside, taking the rose and granting Mulder access to her apartment, her fingers grazed his and sent more than merely faint electrical pulses through both their systems. Mulder waited for Scully to close the door while the shock of the power surge made his skin prickle. She, too, felt the tingling resonate through her body, warming her insides then burning her skin. They were grounded, for the moment, only in one another and, though he tried, Mulder couldn't flip the switch, couldn't force his eyes anywhere but to her.

Scully's hair was pulled back, and Mulder envied the chain of her gold cross as it clung intimately close to her bare neck. Then there was the matter of her long, black gown. Mulder was fairly certain he had never seen Scully in a real dress, and he knew, as a hard fact, that he'd never seen her in anything like this.

The cut was not immodest, but it was certainly a more revealing article of clothing than Scully would normally wear. She'd actually taken a few hours off from work to find and purchase the dress after Mulder did the same in order to pick up his tux. Scully was tangentially aware that it had not been Nathan's reaction she considered when she bought the outfit, but she couldn't have predicted how Mulder's lingering inspection of the garment would feel so gratifying.

The dress had only the thinnest of straps, a low-plunging neckline and a side slit that parted nearly to the thigh, granting Mulder access to areas he'd seen before only under the worst of circumstances at times when he was thinking of nothing but Scully's safety and never about the bare flesh itself. This was altogether different. This exposure was inviting and purposefully orchestrated. If he let delusion take over, Mulder could almost pretend all the effort was actually for him.

"Shouldn't you save this for Meredith?" Scully questioned him, breaking his gawking perusal. She twirled the flower in her fingers and tried to hold it out to him.

"I wouldn't want to give her the wrong idea," he answered. "You, on the other hand, partner, already know exactly where we stand."

She glanced down again at the flower, wondering if she really had any clue at all where they stood, wondering why this suddenly felt more like a rendezvous with Mulder than a ride to her date with Nathan, wondering why the warm memory of Nathan's kiss had iced over and been replaced completely by the heat of the current moment, wondering, despite her mandatory self-imposed doubt, if she was the only one who felt it.

"Unfortunately, they were all out of yellow," Mulder informed her as he reached out and touched a petal of the crimson-colored flower. He knew he had been toeing the edge of an invisible line to which he should never get so carelessly close. The comment marked his retreat and, he hoped, covered his tracks.

The yellow rose, the implication of friendship. Scully should have known better. He hadn't even said—

"You look great, by the way. You should wear that to work sometime, give the boys down in wire fraud something to live for."

Great? Great. Scully laughed and rolled her eyes, making a move to grab her purse.

"Hang on a second, Scully."

She paused and turned back to him.

"Aren't you going to tell me how dashing I look?" he asked, fishing for an insult, but hoping for a compliment.

Scully split the difference. "Maybe if that tie were around your neck instead of in your hand..."

"I was hoping for a little help with this?"

Scully sighed as if this were the biggest inconvenience she'd ever faced. "What makes you think I even know how to handle this thing?"

"You know, that's exactly what my high school girlfriend said the first time I let her touch my—"

"Mulder—"

"Stick—"

"Oh, jeez—"

"Shift. My stick-shift, Scully. As in drive my car."

"Hm. I didn't even know you could drive a manual transmission," Scully said, sounding innocent enough, but fully aware of the flavor of setup she was providing him.

"Oh, please, Scully. If there's anything I could do in high school, it was handle my own stick. Even more so now, actually. It's just this bow tie I can't beat."

Scully stared at him with a look that of disgust that Mulder felt certain was purely feigned. He held out the bow tie again and put on his best helpless pout. "For the record, I told the girl I wanted a clip-on."

"Thank God she ignored you. There's nothing worse than a clip-on bow tie. Here, give me that."

Scully took the black piece of fabric from Mulder and stepped up to him. She reached out and turned up his collar then laid the black fabric carefully in place around his neck. It was way too much, being this close to him. And yet, it was somehow nowhere near enough. She focused on the action as if it were an autopsy, something entirely outside of herself, something from which she was completely detached.

Mulder's neck broke out in goose flesh each time her fingers grazed his suddenly sensitive skin. As she leaned a little closer to work on the bow, she brought her forehead so dangerously close to his lips that he had to tip his chin up and lean away.

"Stop squirming. I'm almost done."

Mulder swallowed then stilled himself and concentrated on his breathing.

Scully futzed with the tie a moment more, getting it just right. She slid her hands across his shoulders then held on so she could spin him around to face the mirror just next to her front door. In truth, he'd looked 'dashing' all along, but this was…

"Perfect," she completed the thought aloud.

Mulder smiled and met her eyes in the mirror as she stepped up next to him.

"Yeah," he agreed. "We are."


	7. Down Under?

**Author's Note: **Today happens to be my birthday so just know that reviews make excellent gifts :) Seriously, though, let me know what you loved or hated... and I hope, overall, you're still enjoying it.

Mulder drove Scully toward Fairfax County. The drive was much quieter the second time around. In fact, each was so lost in individual thought that neither said a single word.

Mulder replayed moments he'd shared with Scully over the years. He compiled a list of each glancing accidental touch, every deliberately tender caress, and the spectrum of contact—and of connections—in between. While he was blessed with photographic memory, at that moment, he wished for something a bit more multi-sensory.

Scully simultaneously searched her own memory, but where Mulder was looking for moments to remember, Scully was looking for something she couldn't recall: a time—even a single second would do—when Mulder's appeal was less than magnetic. But attraction, Scully knew, was cerebral biology—a combination of chemicals released by the brain. In other words, it was a thought, an impulse. While it couldn't be forced, it could be controlled, ignored and altogether disregarded.

Mulder, on the other hand, let himself believe that certain things in life, while maybe controllable, were still completely undeniable. Though Scully would likely not know it, their relationship would never be the same. Now, instead of a partner or a friend, Scully would be the woman he loved and couldn't have. Not the one that got away, but the one that was too close to even know she should run. Mulder suddenly wished he were a bit more masochistic. It would make managing his feelings a little easier as Scully took each inevitable step in her relationship with Dr. Riley.

But Scully wasn't even thinking about Nathan, let alone the next level of their relationship. She was trying too hard not to think about anything.

Mulder, on the other hand, was sorting through his mental list of x-file leads, but there was nothing rising to the surface in the murky waters of his mind.

"We really need a new case," Scully observed.

"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing," Mulder concurred.

They traded surprisingly easy smiles as Mulder pulled up to the Gala-hosting five-star hotel just across from the Fairfax County Medical Facility.

After a valet took the car, Scully and Mulder made their way through the hotel's extravagant lobby and to the grand ballroom. The venue was decked out in dark, elegant fabrics, and the three large chandeliers were turned down just a little too low for such a seemingly high-brow event.

Nathan found Scully and Mulder before they'd even had a chance to search for their respective dates… much less get in the dance for which Mulder had been hoping. He afforded himself a quick fantasy of the moment—the comfortable fit of his hand on her hip, the scent of her hair as her head found his shoulder, the comforting lull as they swayed to the music. The loss of that imagined moment impacted Mulder as if Nathan had actually cut in on his daydreamed dance, giving him another reason to dislike the otherwise likable doctor.

"Dana, you look amazing," Nathan greeted Scully as he swooped in and took her by both hands, inspecting her dress. He forced his eyes from her to Mulder. "Good evening, Fox."

"Hey, how ya doing?" Mulder greeted, uninterested in formality or even making eye contact with the doctor. He instead glanced around the room, hoping Dr. Foster would be nearby, a distraction from Scully and her handsome doctor date in his expensive tuxedo. He didn't find her immediately, though, so he turned again back to his present company. He had to hold back a chuckle as he noticed that, while his suit was of the highest caliber, Dr. Riley wore a clip on bow tie. For shame. Mulder caught Scully's eye as he straightened his own tie then glanced, ever so briefly, at the imitation bow.

Scully shook her head dismissively, an exchange unnoticed by Nathan, but, though she tried, she couldn't stop the smile from coming to her lips. She always did love moments like this with Mulder—times when an entire conversation could be communicated instantly between them.

Mulder had to look away from her before he found himself, once again, "gazing" at Scully. When he did, he found Dr. Foster across the room, holding a glass of champagne and talking to a geriatric penguin, or at least that's how the stout old man looked in his tuxedo this evening. Foster, on the other hand, looked like a swan in her blue-grey gown.

"Excuse me," Mulder told Scully and Nathan before he walked away.

"He's a bit… abrupt, isn't he?" Nathan said as more of an observation than a legitimate question.

"Let's dance," Scully suggested. She wasn't planning to stand around and talk about Mulder all night. She was determined to focus on her date because, clearly, that's what her partner was doing.

When Mulder reached Dr. Foster, she was just wrapping up her conversation. The old guy gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking his leave. Mulder stepped right up to replace him.

"I don't exactly know how to compete, but—"

"You can't. That was Ansel Holmes. He funded about eighty percent of our research last year—all on his own," she spoke with her Aussie annunciations.

"Wow. You must have some really sweet… cheeks." Mulder reached out toward the cheek Ansel Holmes had kissed in parting.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Dr. Foster teased as she leaned back from his touch.

Mulder's smile was real and he felt genuinely compelled to continue this potential flirt-fest, but nothing came immediately to mind.

"Or, you know, not," she said light-heartedly.

"Huh? Oh, no, I… I would. Like to know, that is. I mean, what guy wouldn't? I just—man, where'd you find that alcohol?" Mulder joke-stammered as he pointed to her champagne and looked around the room. All the waiters had hors d'oeuvres, but there was no booze in sight as far as Mulder could see.

"Nathan brought it to me earlier, but here," she said as she held out the glass.

"Oh, no, You don't have to—"

"I don't normally drink," she informed him. "Especially at events like this. I like to keep a level head in case the next potential research donor decides to chat me up. Although, with a strikingly handsome FBI agent by my side, I might not get as many bites as usual."

"I'm a little confused. Was that a compliment or are you accusing me of cramping your style?"

Dr. Foster simply smiled mysteriously and pushed out the glass of champagne.

"You sure?" he questioned.

"Yeah. I don't even know what Nathan was thinking. He knows I don't drink—but, then, I guess he's a bit distracted, now, isn't he?"

Mulder followed Dr. Foster's narrowed eyes out to the dance floor. Scully was ridiculously close to Dr. Riley with her cheek pressed into his as they whispered God knows what to each other. Damn it, that was meant to be Mulder's moment. Mulder swiped the champagne from Dr. Foster and swallowed it all in one big gulp.

"Want another?" Dr. Foster asked, plainly leaving the amusement in her voice.

"Nah. I don't drink either," Mulder said. "Can we maybe get out of here for a little while?"

"Um, Agent Mulder, I don't know what you've heard about Australian girls—"

"Just that they're tons of fun down under."

She rolled her eyes, but laughed as she turned her back to the dance floor. "I could use a little break, too. Any chance you want to see my lab?"


	8. Less Complicated?

As they left the dance floor, Nathan's hand around her waist, Scully was glad Mulder was nowhere in sight. She was finally able to focus on enjoying herself with the person she was with instead of obsessing over the person she could never be with.

But the consideration was counterproductive as it escorted her mind right back to Mulder. It also caught her off guard because the unsettling implication was that she _wanted_ to be with Mulder… not just in some fervent, physical, fleeting moment, but to _be_ with Mulder, to share an eternity of these ephemeral experiences and to thus share something more lasting—a relationship, a real and normal life.

This was such a foreign idea to Scully. It was also oddly and wholly appealing. But couldn't she have the same thing with Nathan? And wouldn't it be a whole lot less complicated?

"Thank you again for coming, Dana—I know this isn't exactly a normal second date."

"But it's a lovely second date," she told him, looking around at the adorned ballroom, trying to force her future self into this life. Why did it all feel so less-than-perfect?

"Thanks, also, for humoring me with the Meredith thing," Nathan said gratefully.

"Sure, though I'm a bit surprised a woman like her can't find her own dates."

"Oh, she could. She just... doesn't."

"Odd," Scully said, though she didn't really think so. If Meredith was as much like Mulder as she seemed, she was far too interested in her work to care about the dating scene.

"I guess if a guy like Fox can't spark her romantic interest, who could?"

Referring to Mulder as "Fox" was almost as annoying as Nathan's clip-on bowtie, but Scully forced a smile and said, "They do seem to have a lot in common."

"Including current location, I'm assuming," Nathan deduced as he looked around the room, unsuccessfully seeking out the other couple.

Moments before, she was glad for this void, ready to enjoy an evening with her handsome doctor date and without the watchful eyes of either of their partners, but now she found herself searching the room with Nathan, curious about their whereabouts.

"I bet she took him to see our lab," Nathan suggested in a tone that gave just the slightest hint of disapproval.

Disapproval of what, Scully wasn't sure. Maybe Nathan didn't trust Mulder with whatever he and Meredith were working on. Maybe it was more complicated. Was it jealousy she had heard? Or was he simply disgusted by the potential defiling of his sterile workspace? She was certainly revolted by the thought.

"How would _you_ like to see the lab?"


	9. Interested?

**Author's Note: **I am posting this pretty quickly after the previous chapter so make sure you've read that one, too :)

As they rode up on the elevator, Mulder took a closer look at Dr. Foster. She really was breathtakingly beautiful, not to mention absolutely brilliant. Plus, she made for great company, and she believed in alien life forms. What was wrong with him?

"Why the hell can't I just fall in love with you?" he asked her. He couldn't believe the words had sounded anywhere but in his own brain.

The elevator doors opened, and when Dr. Foster exited, Mulder followed behind her.

"Do you know how love works, Agent Mulder?" she asked him as they walked adjacently, and at an easy pace, down a long hospital hallway.

"Sure. We all have this sort of schema of attraction mapped into our brains—maybe from birth, maybe shaped by our environment."

"Nurture versus nature," Dr. Foster interjected, nodding along.

"Yes, though considering what some people go for, you have to hope it's a natural glitch."

Dr. Foster chuckled as she cut down a corridor. Mulder almost missed the turn, but corrected his direction and caught back up.

"So, anyway," he continued, "when we see someone who fits into our personal little attraction schema, our brain releases a series of chemicals, dopamine being a predominate player. Then there's the physical reaction, sexual arousal—i.e., attraction. From there, you get your oxytocin, the cuddle chemical and, eventually, when the honeymoon's over, there're always endorphins, which simply act as bonding agents that emotionally attach us to that special someone. From there, we intellectualize our loyalty and, thereby, remain faithful."

"Well, in that case, Mulder, I suppose you can't fall in love with me because A) I don't fall into your particular schema of attraction, as you called it—"

"No, you do. You definitely—"

"Or B) You're already, how did you put it, "bonded" to someone else."

"But I'm single," Mulder protested. "I'm beyond single."

"Well, you didn't say love had to be mutual."

Dr. Foster took a quick turn into a short hallway of offices, patient rooms and various hospital labs. Mulder rushed to follow her.

"So this is it. My lab," she informed him as she gestured around. "Well, mine and Nathan's."

"It's great," Mulder told her, a little jealous when he compared this pristine place of research and healing to his own FBI basement home.

"Anyhow," Dr. Foster continued, "let's just get out of the way that I believe I would find it as equally and perplexingly impossible to fall in love with you."

"Oh…"

"But, on a professional level, you're my dream guy."

Mulder chuckled. "Which is why you brought me here?"

Dr. Foster smiled an oh-so-close to beguiling smile then nodded over Mulder's shoulder. He turned his head then his whole body, surprised to find himself looking through a window and into a bay of six beds, three on either side. In each bed, a man lay asleep with his arms and legs in restraints. Aside from these details, the men appeared to have nothing in common. They were of a variety of ages and none had the same look.

"Interested?" Dr. Foster asked him, standing close enough for her shoulder to be touching his.

"In a menage a… huit?" he asked with a smirk as he pretended to count up everyone.

"Oh, we don't want to engage in sexual intercourse with these men."

Mulder narrowed his eyes, leaning closer to the glass. He glanced over at Dr. Foster who looked at him hopefully.

"Okay, yeah, you got me. I'm interested," he confessed.

"These six men, aged nineteen to fifty-two, have an STD."

Mulder didn't skip a beat. "The same STD, I take it."

"Yes," she confirmed. "Something like syphilis, but not quite.

"Did they share a sexual partner?"

"Here's where things get… interesting, Agent Mulder. You see Henry there?" she asked as she pointed to the youngest of the men. "He's just sixteen and he claims to be a virgin."

"Well, isn't that what you'd say if you paid a prostitute to pop your cherry?"

"Maybe, but then there's that man on the right. The one with the red hair?"

"I see him. He may not look like the prostitute-purchasing type, but—"

"That's Father O'Shea."

Mulder laughed out loud. "Let me guess. He's a virgin, too?"

"He confessed to me—"

"Shouldn't that be the other way around?"

"That he did, for several months, engage in sexual relations with—"

"An altar boy?"

"Actually, he was the altar boy. The priest was Father Arthur. It was twenty-five years ago. Oh, and apparently, he liked it."

"Okay, maybe young Henry also plays for Team Repressed Closet-Case," Mulder suggested.

"Judging by how hard he tries to pretend he's not looking down my top every time I lean over his bed, I highly doubt that."

"Okay, well," Mulder stalled. This was actually getting good. "Are these men all locals? Maybe there's something in the water? A bacteria that's masquerading as syphilis. I mean, you did say it was only like syphilis, right? There are even certain fungi that can cause—"

"Throw six darts at the United Sates map and you'll find six locations more correlated than their hometowns. The first man on the left is even more of an outlier. He's Canadian."

"Then how'd they—"

"We have a system for physicians around the country—and in Canada and Mexico—to submit undiagnosed patients to us for possible study. These all came to us within the past two weeks. Nathan's the one who caught the striking similarities, but once we got them here for physical exams, it was even clearer. Whatever happened to these gentlemen, it definitely happened to all of them."

"Wait, you're saying 'happened' like it was an event not a disease."

Foster shrugged, but it was less of a dismissal and more of an invitation for Mulder to continue, to hypothesize, to conspiracy theorize. She grinned. "Anything come to mind?"

"Off the top of my head… alien implants, government drug trials, some kind of traveling succubus…"

"Nathan suggested food contamination."

"How very pragmatic of him," Mulder replied. "The food could have originated in a single location then been shipped out around the country—or to Canada. It would explain the geographical discrepancy."

"And the location of the original chancre in each patient," Foster explained as she pointed to her mouth.

"Hm. Sounds more like herpes. The gift that keeps on giving."

"Except over the past few days, we've noticed several patients reaching a secondary stage, developing a maculopapular rash on the trunk and extremities."

"A la our friend Madame Syphilis," Mulder said as he tilted his head in consideration.

"Yes. You certainly do know your STDs, Agent Mulder."

"I took copious notes in seventh grade health class."

"Know the enemy and know yourself," she quoted to him.

"Oh, yeah, I did a lot of both that year," Mulder gave her a wink, an attempt to be flirtatious, because he felt like a woman quoting Sun Tzu to him should also be turning him on. Not that she was. He steered his mind back to the topic at hand. "Have any of these men responded to treatment?"

"Unfortunately, the usual course of antibiotics is doing absolutely nothing."

"Which is why it's only like syphilis and why they're here with you."

Dr. Foster nodded and moved a half a step closer to Mulder, caressing his perfectly knotted bow tie. "Is it weird that this has been my favorite part of tonight?"

"Well, STDs are pretty romantic," Mulder teased and glanced toward the bay of sleeping (or were they sedated?) men before openly perusing Foster's nearly perfect frame. She was beyond attractive and, in this moment, he could almost appreciate it. He almost wanted her, could almost kiss her right now. "Would it kill the mood if I told you I myself have herpes?"

Dr. Foster laughed and only leaned closer to Mulder, "I am pretty into STDs at the moment."

"So it would actually hurt my chances to admit that I only get cold sores."

Dr. Foster chuckled and took a step back from him. "I don't even know how to reply to that."

They turned back to the viewing window and watched in silence for a few seconds.

"There's something else you should know about these men."


	10. One Glass?

As Scully and Nathan rode the elevator, she wondered if, with a little effort on her part, she could fall in love with this man. He was kind and thoughtful, accomplished and intelligent, a real catch. Which begged the question, why _hadn't_ he been caught? Furthermore, why was she so unwilling to reel him in?

Scully filtered out the questions with a deep breath and refocused on the detailed description of symptoms Nathan had already imparted to her. All six male patients showed the bodily manifestations of syphilis, but unusual (and similar) erratic behaviors.

"I'm confused," she told him. "This sounds less like syphilis and more like rabies. "

"Meredith went with 'demon possession,' but yes, the outbursts are bizarre."

"Do they say anything specific during these manic periods?"

"Oh, yes." Nathan answered without offering more information. "You'll see."

Their elevator reached its destination and gave out a ding as the doors parted for the pair of well-dressed doctors. Scully followed Nathan out in silence, still processing his account of the symptoms of the men currently under his care. They had no discernible connections and came from unrelated geographic locations. The very best Nathan had come up with to link them was food or medication contamination, but, thus far, nothing had surfaced.

Medically, they exhibited the physical symptoms of patients in stages one and two of syphilis, but their behavioral indicators were hard to explain even if they were diagnosed stage four, which didn't make sense anyway considering it would take decades without treatment to bring on such advanced symptoms. One young man, Henry, was just seventeen. And then there was the severity of the outbursts Nathan described. The men had to be restrained and sedated because of the episodes. And sometimes even that wasn't enough.

Her own scientific explanations severely lacking, Scully went down the Mulder checklist. There were aliens, of course. Perhaps some government drug trial or experimental germ warfare, dispersed throughout the country (and Canada) to avoid attention. Maybe these men had some sort of psychic connection that led to a physical manifestation. Meredith's suggestion of demon possession was definitely on the table.

Scully, of course, believed in none of these things, but this was now a part of her process. When the logical explanation was flimsy or even altogether nonexistent, she went through Mulder's own paranormal checklist. She knew it well enough by now, and it was the only way she had any hope of staying aboard or derailing, if needed, the Mulder train of crazy.

She and Nathan had already deduced that their partners had disappeared to this place, but when she turned the last corner of the lab's labyrinthine hallways and saw Mulder standing so troublingly close to Meredith, Scully second-guessed her assumption that it had been the carrot of a case that had lured him there.

Mulder and Meredith, just done discuss ing the final freakish part of what Mulder had already mentally coined "rabid syphilis," turned in tandem at the sound of the footsteps behind them.

When Mulder saw Scully again, so pretty and feminine in her dress and heels, he couldn't remember a time when she'd looked more beautiful. Even the hospital lights—the unflattering fluorescents that could make the healthiest of visitors look as sallow as the ill patients upon whom they called—couldn't wash out her vibrancy.

Mulder felt just fine with thoughts like this floating around in his head, but when he had to catch himself from uttering his observation aloud, he started to do a quick sanity self-assessment. Just the inclination made him feel rational enough, but then why was he having such a hard time keeping his contemplations to himself?

"Only you would bring your date up here," Nathan ribbed Meredith.

"Well, that's just bull dust, there." Meredith threw out her Aussie slang and grinned at Nathan, her eyes drifting to Scully with and accusatory raise of her eyebrow.

"Fair enough, but we were only looking for you two."

"A likely story." Meredith winked at Mulder. "Nathan's as obsessed with these guys as I am. Probably looking for a second opinion from Agent Scully."

"I must say, I am intrigued," Scully admitted as she walked toward the glass.

Mulder and Meredith moved down and made room for the other couple, leaving Mulder and Scully next to one another.

"He gets 'intrigued'? I usually just get 'oh, brother,'" Mulder complained to Scully.

If he'd meant to sound playful, he'd failed completely, so much so that Scully had to look at him to get a better read, but it was too late. He was again staring into the patient ward. A second later, Scully's head snapped back in that direction as a scream pierced her ear drums.

Young Henry was sitting straight up in bed, fighting his restraints.

"Where is she? Why are you doing this to me? Please, just let me see Katrina. Katrina, can you hear me? I love you! I need you, Katrina."

Mulder and Scully were momentarily stunned and semi-permanently stumped.

"Who's Katrina?" Mulder quietly asked one of the many questions that came to Scully's mind as they glanced at one another, finding solidarity in their confusion.

"His chemistry teacher," Nathan answered.

"Wait, but I thought he was sedated," Scully interjected.

"He is," Meredith confirmed.

"Was he sleeping with the teacher?" Scully wanted to know.

"I thought he was a virgin," Mulder said.

"He is," Meredith smiled at Nathan as she spoke. The two of them had already gotten to wherever they were trying to lead the FBI agents, and they were having fun doing it.

"Has anyone thought to talk to the chemistry teacher?" Mulder questioned the smug pair.

"Mm hm," Meredith answered, "She barely knew Henry. He'd just transferred into her class a few weeks before he got sick."

"But," added Nathan, "she did admit she suspected he had a little crush on her."

"And his mother shared a couple of drawings she found in his room. Sketches of Katrina. Quite the artist, our Henry," Katrina told them with the put-on tone of a proud parent.

"And the other guys? Similar infatuations?" Mulder asked.

"Yes and no," Nathan said.

"Of the three married men, only one seems to be hot for his wife," Foster explained.

"Sounds about normal," Mulder joked, anticipating the elbow he got in the ribs from Scully. He loved how predictable she could be. He loved… he loved… really, what didn't he love about Scully?

"One babbles on only about his high school sweetheart, and the other is apparently madly in love with his co-worker." Nathan stared through the glass at his perplexingly lovesick patients. "Damon, the thirty-year-old plumber, talks non-stop about a woman he saw in the grocery store. And Father O'Shea…"

"Is in love with the priest who molested him as a kid?" Mulder suggested.

"Nah. An altar boy," Meredith told him with a smile that told Mulder she was all too pleased to go full circle with an allusion to his previous joke.

"I'm sorry, but am I really understanding this right?" Scully wanted to know. "You're saying all these men show the physical signs of syphilis, but their behavior is more akin to… "

"Someone dosed with Love Potion Number Nine," Mulder filled in. "Interesting."

"Completely illogical," Scully corrected. "It must be a drug."

"Tox screens came back normal," Nathan promised.

Scully's brow crinkled as she stared in at the sedated men. The Mulder checklist was gaining ground, but with the twist of a reasonable explanation. Maybe these men had been subjected to hypnosis or subliminal programming of some sort. Then Scully thought of the physical symptoms and was back to square one.

Mulder watched Scully think. She didn't put things together as quickly as he did only because she limited herself to what was in the box, never realizing every puzzle they encountered had missing pieces that had to be dug out from the couches and crevices of each individual case. But he didn't think this was a flaw. On the contrary, it kept him grounded and, amazingly, credible because when she put her logic together with his divergent thinking, they almost always solved the case.

But that thought suddenly meant nothing to Mulder at this particular moment. He couldn't care less about the medical anomaly before them, didn't know if Riley and Foster were still hanging around, was completely distracted from everything… except Scully.

He thought of his feelings for Scully as a sort of courtly love, chivalrous. Sure, he thought she was beautiful, but it was a respectful appreciation. Or, so he thought before he realized he was at just the right angle to see straight down her dress. Suddenly, he wanted to do more than just look. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, there and everywhere. He wanted… Hell, he wanted… her. Plain and simple.

Distracted by desire more intense than he could ever recall feeling at any moment in his life, he forgot to filter himself, forgot everything but Dana Scully standing before him.

"Mulder? Are you all right?" Scully asked when she noticed his stare.

"Scully, you're beautiful, you know that?"

The other three turned to Mulder, no one more surprised by this out-of-place comment than Scully herself.

"Huh?" was all she could manage.

"No, not beautiful," he corrected, leaning close to her. "Hot."

Scully's eyes grew wide. "Um… excuse me?"

"You're incredibly sexy. Always, but especially tonight. I mean, that dress, Scully, you had to know how crazy that would make me, right?"

"Uh… Mulder?" Scully asked, looking into his eyes, surprised to find a seemingly lucid Mulder staring back at her. He smiled a lopsided, heart-throb grin that made her wish they were without an audience… and that he wasn't… what, drunk?

Mulder knew exactly what he was saying to Scully. He meant it, too. What he couldn't understand is why he was sharing it, saying it out loud to her or before the small audience who watched in shocked silence as he leaned even closer to Scully, his nose just a few inches from hers. "I wish we could have danced earlier. Your cheek to mine… instead of Dr. Perfect's. Maybe a little Eskimo kiss, huh?"

Mulder leaned closer to Scully, his nose nearing hers, but Scully put her hands against his chest and pushed him gently back. "Have you been drinking?"

Mulder stepped back from her and shook his head. "No. Well, not really."

"Has he been drinking?" Scully asked Meredith.

"Glass of champagne's all," Meredith promised.

"I'm not drunk, Scully. Scout's honor." He held up two fingers to emphasize his pledge, but then changed to three... then back to two. "Well, anyway, I promise."

"In that case, Mr. Mulder, you're way out of line," Nathan said, for the first time interjecting himself into the conversation.

"Just Mulder, Dr. Nathan. Dr. Nate. Dr. Nate Dog. Dr. Nate Diggity Dog Dog."

Scully glanced at Nathan whose fists were clenched, but looked otherwise composed. He raised his eyebrows, asking for permission to intervene.

"It's okay, Nathan," Scully said, not so sure she was telling him the truth.

Mulder looked over at Foster. He'd forgotten she was there. "You know, you're not so bad yourself, you little Aussie vixen."

"Thanks, love."

"But you're no Dana Scully."

"Okay, Meredith, are you sure he only had a glass of champagne?" Nathan asked.

"Unless he took something," she said with a shrug.

"He doesn't do drugs," Scully defended Mulder.

Mulder folded his arms across his chest and stood up straighter, trying to look sober despite the fact that he felt beyond intoxicated. "Thank you, Scully."

"Shut up, Mulder," Scully silenced him and moved in on him, getting in his face, but not how he had gotten close to her. She was angry. "What the hell is wrong with you, Mulder?"

"Nothing," he said until he actually considered it. What the hell _was_ wrong with him? Could he really be drunk? From one glass of champagne? It made no sense.

"Mulder. Think."

"Okay. Something. Something's wrong. I'm saying stuff I don't mean to say."

"Don't mean or don't mean to say?" Nathan questioned.

Mulder glared at Nathan. "You know, I really don't like you."

"Seriously, though," Meredith spoke up, "it's a good question. You can't help what you're saying? Really?"

"I can't control it unless I'm really, really focusing on it."

"I'm going to take you home." Scully said, focused on Mulder.

Mulder pressed his lips together and nodded. He didn't want to say how he'd go anywhere she wanted and for whatever purpose, that he was all hers wherever they ended up. He didn't want to mention how nice she smelled or how appealing her lips were this close up. But, yet, he felt compelled to say it all. And more.

"Scully, get me out of here."


	11. Her Place?

In front of the hotel, Nathan, Meredith, Scully and Mulder stood by the curb waiting for the valet to return with Mulder's car. She didn't know about anyone else, but it was certainly one of the more uncomfortably awkward three minutes of Scully's life.

Mulder rocked back and forth on his heels, digging a few sunflower seeds out of his pocket. He shoved them into his mouth and hoped they'd shut him up. He couldn't remember anything he'd said to Scully since they'd left the lab that _wouldn't_ constitute a sexual harassment case against him. Yet he literally couldn't stop the suggestive comments from coming. He had always considered himself an honest and forthcoming guy; he never realized how much he actually _didn't_ say on most occasions—until it was all spewing out of his mouth at once.

Scully watched him flick a cracked sunflower seed shell onto the sidewalk then pull a fresh one from his pocket. She hoped that whatever he was on would wear off soon because if he called her beautiful or... whatever one more time, she just might start to believe _he_ actually believed it. Well, actually, she wouldn't. Ever. She knew that. But it was a nicely fulfilling little fantasy: believing he found her so utterly appealing.

Mulder looked up and met Scully's eye— her bright blue eyes that saw him better than anyone else on this planet… or any other planet, for that matter. He chuckled at the thought. "You know, Scully, I kinda think I want you more than I want the aliens."

"That's nice, Mulder," Scully said with a blush as she glanced at Meredith and Nathan out of her peripheral vision. The two of them had shared more than a few of those looks Scully thought only she and Mulder could conjure up, the ones that said volumes in 0.3 seconds or less. It was too quick for Scully. She had no idea if they were amused, confused or just plain disgusted.

Mulder didn't notice. Nor did he notice when the valet pulled up in his car. Scully's hand on his arm, though, got his full attention. He looked down at her fingers as they gripped and tugged until he finally realized she was attempting to get him to move.

It was only after they got Mulder buckled into the passenger seat with the door closed that Nathan grabbed Scully by her elbow.

"Call me if you need anything," Nathan said. Scully nodded and made a move to walk to the driver's side, but Nathan held onto her arm. "Or even if you don't."

"Yes. You'll hear from me," Scully confirmed.

"Sorry about all this," Meredith offered. "Didn't know the champagne would make him go mad."

"Not your fault. At all." Scully smiled at each of them then got in the car and drove away thankful for the escape.

After a few moments in silence, Mulder spoke, taking care to control each word before it ever left his mouth. "I ruined your date, didn't I?"

"In a word: yes. Yours, too, actually."

"I'm sorry."

"Good."

"You're Angry."

"Yep." Scully sighed and reconsidered. "No."

"No?"

"I'm not angry with you, Mulder. I'm just… a little… confused."

"About that," Mulder started, carefully choosing his words, "do you have any duct tape?"

Scully couldn't even begin to imagine how duct tape was relevant to this conversation.

"What, like in my purse? No. No duct tape. And, why?"

"For my mouth. I shouldn't talk anymore."

"I beg to differ. You need to start talking right now so we can figure out why you were saying… what you were saying back there."

"I was saying it because it's true."

Scully stared at the road, but she felt the heat start under her eyes and move down her cheeks. What was true? That he thought she was "hot" and "sexy." What a joke.

"Seriously, Mulder—"

"Seriously, Scully. You're… going to need to stop me from talking."

"What? How—" but she stopped when he reached out and grabbed one of her hands away from the steering wheel and put it up to his mouth. "What are you doing?"

Mulder started talking, but felt certain it was unintelligible.

"What?" Scully asked and tried to take her hand down. Mulder pressed his hands into hers, almost completely muffling every utterance he tried to make.

Scully was so very confused by his behavior. On the one hand, it was almost humorous. Him trying to talk, her hand over his mouth, the way his vibrating lips tickled her palm and almost made her laugh. His tone, though, and his mood were very unsettling. He acted as if it were a matter of life and death that she not hear what he had to say. And why couldn't he just shut up?

"I'm worried about leaving you alone," Scully told him.

Mulder went off, inaudibly, about how he didn't ever want her to leave him alone, wanted to be with her forever. He had mistakenly loosened his grip on Scully so she was able to pull her hand down in time to hear "I just want you to be with me, Scully."

"You want me to stay with you tonight?"

"Desperately," he blurted then closed his eyes immediately.

"Could I convince you to go to my place instead?"

Her place.

"Consider me convinced," he said, but then added in a more measured tone, "but Scully, promise me some things, okay?"

"Maybe. What are they?"

"Whatever I say tonight, don't listen to me… or at least don't believe me. And if I try to do something… something I wouldn't normally do… don't let me. Understand?"

"Not really."

"It's getting harder to control and I just don't want to… offend you any further. So whatever I say, ignore it. Whatever I do, stop me."

"Okay."

"Promise me, Scully."

"Fine, Mulder. I promise to believe nothing you say and stop you before you cause any damage. I mean, really, why should tonight be any different from all the rest of the time we've spent together, right?"

She gave him a wry smile and side glance while keeping her eyes on the highway. He inhaled slowly. Everything. Every little thing. He exhaled with equal control. He loved every little thing she did. And if her only line of defense was going to be her usual skepticism, this was certainly going to be an interesting-and long-evening.

**Author's Note: **Thank you guys for reading and for the kind words about this story so far. I really love that when I click on your names, I always find good stories to read (your own and those on your favorite lists). That makes me extra happy :) Also, I just did a quick little chapter replace on this to fix a few typos and to give a better button line. So thanks to MissIzzyB who said something about how this was going to be a long night a review... because I totally stole that from you :)


	12. Penguins?

From the moment Mulder had admitted to himself his feelings for Scully, he knew there was no turning back. Either, he would be with her or he would be with no one. The only thing he wasn't willing to do was lose her. This created a conundrum because the only way to be with Scully was to confess his feelings, but doing so opened him up to the possibility of rejection. Rejection meant losing her. Though the choice opposed his instincts, a type of decision rare for Mulder, he opted to do nothing at all, to leave things as they were and to keep his mouth shut.

That was before tonight.

Tonight: when silence simply wasn't a viable option. Sure, he'd done well enough on the car ride to Scully's apartment. At least he hadn't told her he was in love with her. He had even managed not to mention the multitude of very specific, very explicit things he wanted to do to her in the backseat. But he felt the restraint would only be as short-lived as the silence between them. When they got back to her place, when she started the barrage of questions she was bound to have for him, he knew he would crack. He could only hope she would remember the last legitimate lie he'd been able to muster: that she shouldn't believe anything he said.

By the time he staggered into her apartment, Mulder felt drunk or drugged or high on some chemical to which his body was not accustomed. He knew he should argue to be taken to his own apartment, that to stay meant a breach in safety—not his or hers, but that of the status quo to which Mulder had previously resigned himself, to which he now desperately clung.

So, why did he choose to make no protest as she guided him inside with her hand steadily on his back—like he had so often led her—past her couch, past her kitchen table… directly to her own bedroom? Why did he sit down on the foot of her bed and let her kneel before him, still in her dress and heels, to remove his shoes?

He knew why. It was her. _Her_ apartment. _Her_ bed. _Her_ elbows resting on his knees._ Her_ eyes searching his face. _Her_ hands holding his tightly. _Her_ he wanted so madly in this moment.

Then Mulder's mind stuttered and he realized the unnatural intensity of his feelings. Was there more to this than simply giving in to his best-hidden desires? He had to speak up before his brain was entirely clouded.

"Scully, I can't stay here."

"Mulder, I need you to be completely honest with me."

Mulder threw his head back to laugh. She wanted honesty? That was not going to be a problem.

"Mulder, I'm serious."

"I swear to tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," he promised while hoping he would still be capable of lying by omission if the nature of her questions wandered down the wrong path.

"What did you drink tonight?"

"Glass of champagne."

"One glass?"

"Yes, Scully. I already told you—"

"Where did you get it?"

"Dr. Foster gave it to me."

Scully considered this for a moment. There wasn't much alcohol available at the event. She had spotted just one cash bar at the far end of the hall.

"Where did she get it? From the bar?"

"From Dr. Perfect."

"Who?"

"Your stupid date."

"From Nathan?"

"But she doesn't drink when she's schmoozing fat old penguins so she gave it to me."

"Penguins?" she asked. Maybe he really was on drugs. "Mulder, besides the champagne, did you take any type of drug or medication at any time today?"

Mulder thought hard. "Not even an aspirin, Scully."

"At least not knowingly," she muttered more to herself than to Mulder. She didn't know how well he was processing this conversation. His eyes were glassy and his pupils dilated. There was sweat on his brow and his cheeks were as rosy as if he'd been baked by the sun or burned by the wind. It occurred to her that perhaps it really wasn't substance intoxication causing his symptoms, but an illness. Like the men under Nathan and Meredith's care. She kicked herself for not seeing the connection before. Instead of his high school chemistry teacher or some random woman in the grocery store, Mulder had fixated on Scully herself. But why?

"Hey?" She asked for his attention.

"Hmm?"

"Why me?"

"Why you what?"

"You've been very… complimentary of me tonight. Why?"

"I can't help it." Mulder swallowed and couldn't stop his eyes from traveling down to her body, to where her dress pulled away because of her kneeling position..

She touched his chin and lifted it to bring his eyes back to hers. "Mind over matter, Mulder. You can help it."

He smiled. "You don't understand. You're just so… beautiful. I mean, you're always beautiful, but tonight? Man, tonight, you're stunning. You're perfect."

She held his gaze, but felt the fire on her cheeks, her ears, her neck. Sure, she'd put in a little effort and was glad he took notice, but she was still far from perfect. Far, far from.

"What about Meredith?" Scully asked.

"What about her?"

"If anyone looked stunning tonight, it was her."

"Dr. Foster looked great. She's an amazing woman," he said honestly.

This made Scully feel better. Clearly Mulder was still moderately rational.

Mulder looked out the window and put his mind in a mental maze. Each time it floated toward Scully, he'd construct a blockade: an old case, his sister, the Knicks, Assistant Director Walter Skinner. This did well enough, but his brain pushed on, still searched for the chance to consider Scully. He was running out of obstructions, but he had to keep trying. Because she was asking too many questions now. Because the answers were getting dangerous.

Scully wondered if she should call Nathan. Perhaps she should invite him over to examine Mulder, to find out if he could have possibly been exposed to and infected by whatever ailed his own patients. But the whole thing was impossible. Mulder didn't really even have any of the right physical symptoms. Even his behavior was only mildly correlated. He wasn't having outbursts. This was a steady flow of erratic conduct. Something was wrong, but Scully concluded it was an entirely different something than the illness that had overtaken the men at the hospital. She _would_ get Nathan's help, and Meredith's too, but that would wait until morning. For now, she needed to treat his symptoms and get them both through what she hoped wouldn't be too long a night.

She turned his hands over in hers and felt his palms; they were clammy. He was staring out the window, seemingly lost in thought.

"Mulder? You still with me?"

"Always, Dana." The rat that was his brain finally reached its cheese.


	13. Handcuffs?

**Author's Note: **I've had a lovely Valentine's Day, and I've stayed up late to get this published so I hope you enjoy it. I mean, there's wet, soppy Mulder in a towel so what's not to like? I'm kidding. Well, not about the towel thing. Also, I hope you know that reviews are like Valentines for the fanfic writer. Just throwing it out there :) I'm sorry. It's late. I'm loopy.

Scully suddenly wondered if bringing Mulder into her bedroom was a good idea. She had planned on him staying the night, of course, but perhaps the living room couch would have been a more appropriate initial stopping point. Here, kneeling before him with her elbows propped on his knees and his hands in hers, it all started to feel dangerously intimate. And the look he gave her when he said her name was practically gooey.

Her name. He had called her Dana. The rarely used nomenclature caught her by surprise and caused her to take a long look into his eyes for any sign of confusion. He seemed perfectly lucid. "I think you could be sick." He had to be. "Can you try to describe your symptoms to me?"

"Racing heart, sweaty palms," he said swapping his hands so they now held hers, "And a general, all-over flushed feeling."

"What about in here, Mulder?" she asked as she placed the fingers of her right hand to his temple. "What's going in here?"

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, her fingers bringing cool relief to his blistering forehead. That was the place he couldn't go. Those were the feelings he'd been fighting back all night. If he opened his mouth, he _would_ say what he shouldn't: that he loved her, that he wanted to be with her, that he just might be able to walk away with her and leave it all behind—the aliens, the quest… the truth. _That_ was the truth. It wasn't "out there" after all, but locked inside his head, fighting and forcing its way to his lips. He took a deep breath before he finally opened his eyes and hoped that Scully's arched yet patient eyebrow wouldn't do him in.

"Can I plea the fifth?" he asked with his most winsome smile.

Scully had no idea what emotional response could trigger the erection of such a wall, but she was willing to let it go for the moment. He was awfully hot.

"Do you want to take a shower?" Scully asked.

"With you?" he questioned a little too hopefully.

For a second, she was relieved by his joke... until she realized... he was perfectly serious.

"No. Not with—By yourself, idiot." She forced out the mean name in an attempt to shift the tone of this conversation back toward the silly.

"Too bad," came him solemn reply. Then he _gazed_ at her. "You really don't know how absolutely appealing you are, do you, Dana? On just… every… single… level."

"I… what?" she sputtered.

Mulder was horrified. Telling her she looked good was one thing, but now he'd taken it to a whole other level. He wanted to spin it all into a joke, some fake flirtation, but it was too late. She knew. She knew everything. She knew he wanted her, longed for her... loved her.

Didn't she?

In reality, Scully knew nothing. Except that something was seriously wrong with her partner. She let go of his hands, stood up and took a step back from him, her appraising eyes hunting in his for some clue, some motivation for his unusual behavior, for the words that he would never say, let alone believe.

He also stood, though his legs were unsteady and black spots danced across his vision. "A shower actually sounds really good."

Scully took another step back from him. Mulder noticed the movement, knew it was a physical manifestation of her complete lack of interest in anything romantic, sexual or otherwise. And now she probably hated him… on every… single… level.

Mulder turned toward her master bathroom and entered without giving her another glance. He desperately needed to escape, regroup and cool off. And he definitely had to stop thinking about Scully in that way—in anyway way.

Scully stood in stunned silence, staring at her closed bathroom door for as long as it took Mulder to disrobe and turn on the water. She was so perplexed... and so equally curious. She took a stupid step toward the bathroom before retreating to her closet. She kept an eye on the bathroom and an ear open for the water as she kicked off her heels into the bottom of her closet, adding clutter to an otherwise organized space. She haphazardly slipped her dress over her head, without even touching the zipper. She let the whole garment fall into a pool of satin darkness by her feet. She then grabbed the nearest Navy t-shirt she could find and slipped on some pajama bottoms. She kicked the dress into the closet, but didn't bother closing the door in her rush to be dressed and ready when Mulder exited the bathroom.

Inside, Mulder's pace was far from frantic. He stood under a stream of water so icy it took his breath in an attempt to cool off and to rebuild the mental igloo he'd placed around his partner for so long. But it did no good. He was too warm, and she was too hot.

He couldn't just forget that she was in the next room, beautiful and perfect, most likely changing—removing her clothes hastily before he could intrude. First her shoes then her dress. And there he paused, recreating the image he'd memorized without meaning to.

Roswell. The Yankees. Anything but her. Samantha. It didn't work; Scully took over every thought, every feeling, every sensation. Mulder shook his head and tilted it back, allowing some water to fall into his mouth. He spit it toward the drain and watched it swirl down, along with his sanity. But then there was the tiniest of rational voices at the back of his mind telling him he wasn't crazy, just overcome. Like some Holy roller who caught the ghost and started speaking in tongues. Then, like a dream, the thought left him and Scully invaded again.

"Mulder? You okay in there?"

He cut the water, but his skin was still blazing—even more so than when he started the shower.

"Mulder? Hello?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm... one sec..."

Scully stood close to the bathroom door, her head cocked to the side as she listened and hoped he was okay. Suddenly, the door swung opened. Mulder stood before her, still dripping wet and nearly naked save a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Mulder, God, put some clothes on."

"What clothes? My tux is—"

"Okay. Fine. But… I… " Scully was at a loss.

He flipped his head to the side to get his sloppy, soppy hair out of his eyes and so he could get a good look at Scully. As he expected, she no longer wore her dress. In her t-shirt, PJ pants and barefoot, Scully was adorable. She'd let her hair fall down around her face and he wanted to touch it. So he did.

Scully stared, frozen, as he brushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear. He let his hand slide down to her neck where it felt like a spontaneous inferno had erupted on her already flushed, burning skin. For a moment, maybe longer, Scully considered not stopping him. His other hand made its way to her waist. She really needed to stop him.

Mulder felt like he was under the spell of some witch doctor, a marionette controlled by the hand of another—only that other was him and the control was actually the lack of control, of the restraint he would normally show.

"Listen, Mulder," she started weakly, unconvincingly.

"Dana, I'm in love with you."

He wanted to take back the words instantly, not because he didn't mean them, but because he wasn't ready to say them. Not even close. Not here. Not like this. Maybe not ever. That had really been his decision. To keep his mouth shut.

Scully wanted to laugh, to force the levity if she had to, but she couldn't. She barely remembered to breathe as Mulder pressed his forehead into hers, his cold-soaked hair dampening her forehead like a cold compress, but doing nothing to take the heat from her face.

She had to stop him, couldn't take advantage of him, wanted to remember that he'd told her not believe anything he said. He was sick and this wasn't real.

Mulder's lips moved closer to Scully's, against a tiny flash of internal opposition. Finally, that dim flicker of reason returned to him, and he pulled up short of a kiss.

"Scully?"

She didn't answer, lost in the loss of the moment.

"Please tell me you have some handcuffs."


	14. Sunflower Seeds?

**Author's Note: **So it's been forever, right? I've been both extremely busy at work and writing slightly out of order... which, of course, slows up the publication rate. But this chapter is ready and the next few are almost there so hopefully it won't be so long this time. I hope you are all still around and ready to read more. I'm not saying I'm a glory whore, but reviews are always appreciated. Thanks for sticking with this story!

It wasn't easy getting Mulder handcuffed to her bed. First, he tailed her to her closet where she stored her badge, gun and all other work gear in a small combination lockbox. She could barely remember the combination with his ravings distracting her.

His proclamations of affection were so over-the-top that Scully just ignored him and tried not to laugh out loud when he said he loved her so much that he'd walk away from the x-files if she'd be with him. Mulder giving up the x-files. For her, no less. _That_ was definitely one of those unbelievabilities he'd predicted.

There was also the matter of his near nakedness, but he'd thus far disregarded her requests for his immediate re-clothing. It was only when she switched into that voice her mother used to use when her brothers were misbehaving that Mulder seemed to register her words. She didn't do it on purpose, but when she heard it, she instantly made the connection, and she knew it was a powerful tone. She told him to get back into the bathroom and trade his towel for his boxer shorts. Then, and only then, would she fulfill his bondage request. Surprisingly, he complied and returned a moment later sans the towel and in his boxers.

His hair was still damp and matted to his forehead, but he appeared otherwise dry and, thankfully, had on clothing that hung a little safer around his hips than the stupid towel had. Scully had seen plenty of skin in her years as a doctor—plenty of Mulder's skin, as well, over their time together as partners. This, though, was so personal. He was in _her_ bedroom. So intimate. He was telling her that he loved her. So confusing. He was telling her that he _loved_ her?

After Scully got Mulder cuffed to the headboard of her bed, he continued to rant and rave about his feelings for her. But the words were from some momentarily-mad man, and though Scully knew she couldn't even begin to take any of it seriously, she had to admit, being the object of Mulder's misdirected affection was kind of nice.

"Are you going to join me?" he asked her, nodding toward the empty space next to him on the bed.

"No," she answered simply.

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "You're on my side."

"We already share a desk so… surely we can share a side, Scully," he told her with half a wink and wiggled over to make room.

"Pass," Scully told him dryly. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting," he told her, rattling the handcuffs against her headboard.

Scully ignored him and walked quickly into the bathroom. She closed and locked the door behind her because she needed to feel separated, isolated from the situation and from Mulder, if only for a few minutes.

Somewhere deep down, he fought against the idiot who was bringing life to his body and putting words into his mouth, but Mulder eventually realized there was no real way to fight what he felt. There was no way to hide from Scully what his heart was so desperate to tell her. The truth did not set him free, but imprisoned him so deeply within himself that in that moment, he succumbed. It wasn't that he wouldn't struggle anymore, but that he couldn't.

In the bathroom, Scully stared at her still made-up face in the mirror. She never wore a lot of make-up and tonight was no different, but she had chosen deeper colors, more dramatic shadings. She had been _trying _to look pretty, to look beautiful even, but now against her messy hair and t-shirt, she just looked stupid. She blew a stray hair out of her face and picked up her toothbrush.

Had she really started out the evening on a date with Nathan only to end it by cuffing a temporarily-insane Mulder to her bed? No. She had started out the evening unintentionally hoping for a compliment from Mulder only to end it with more accolades than she could ever want. Be careful what you wish for. She spit, rinsed and tossed her toothbrush back into the holder.

Scully could only hope that Mulder would be back to normal by the next day because hearing him say… the things he was saying… was starting to screw with her head. As she washed her face, she wondered if she was more concerned that what he was saying was actually true… or that it wasn't. She pushed the preposterous notion aside and grabbed a towel to dry her face.

As she chucked the towel into her small bathroom hamper, Scully noticed Mulder's clothing strewn all around it. The only item that was even close to being in the basket itself was the white tuxedo shirt that hung on the edge. Scully picked it up, and though she knew it was completely cliché, she had to take a whiff. The aroma may have been cologne or aftershave or some perfect combination of either or both of those things mixed with whatever else it was that made Mulder smell like Mulder. Maybe the saltiness of sunflower seeds or the woodiness of freshly sharpened pencils. Long story short: it smelled good… and Scully couldn't help but indulge.

She collected the other items in her arms: the jacket, the cummerbund, the tie. When she picked up the pants, a handful of sunflower seeds spilled and scattered across the floor. Naturally. Scully rolled her eyes and laid the pile of clothes neatly across the opening of the hamper. She collected the sunflower seeds one by one, tossing the collection into the trashcan when she was done. She noticed two stray seeds just under the edge of the vanity, but left them there. She pretended it was because she was being lazy, that she could get them some other time, but she knew it was more along the lines that she wanted to remember him later when she'd momentarily forgotten this crazy night. She left them there for future nostalgia.

"Scully?" Mulder shouted from the other room. "I miss you."

Scully sighed and made eye contact with the reflection in the mirror. She was attracted to him. Fact. She almost let him kiss her earlier. Fact. She liked how it felt to be adored by him. Save the slight embarrassment, fact. She needed a way to shut him up so she could forget all these facts and make it through the night. Hard fact.

That's when she thought of sleeping pills. She always kept a few on hand, though she rarely used them. She had previously looked them up in her medication reference guide and, though she highly suspected Mulder had been drugged in some way, the particular sleeping pills in her medicine cabinet had very few drug interaction warnings and no other serious side effects.

When Scully reappeared from the bathroom, she walked to the bed and hesitantly sat on the edge next to Mulder.

"Hi, gorgeous."

Scully cleared her throat and successfully fought off a smile. Was she really that weak? So pathetic that his silly and completely inappropriate comments could tickle her stomach from the inside? She couldn't even get angry. At him for his behavior. At herself for enjoying the attention. She needed to correct the course before she developed some attachment to this version of Mulder, the version who would surely be gone come morning. Knocking him out would do.

Thank God for sleeping pills.


	15. Flicked switch?

**Author's Note: **So I know this isn't such a long chapter, but it's kind of a monumental moment in the story so I hope you enjoy it. Also, be sure you've read the previous chapter as I just posted it last night. Thanks as always for the reading and the reviews. It's funny how a few positive comments can really make my day. Oh, and just in the vein of full disclosure, you guys know I'm not going to write anything that wouldn't reasonably appear on primetime television, right? I mean, I don't want to lead anyone on ;) But sometimes the tension is so much better than the act itself, wouldn't you say? Anyway... here we go...

Scully had purchased the beige chaise lounge chair for reading. It sat by her bedroom window where it had a lovely view of the street below, but rarely any company. On this particular night, after Mulder had quieted down then finally drifted off to sleep, Scully had dragged the chair over to "her side" of the bed. She had to admit, _this_ view was by far better than the one out her window.

Here, she could sit and watch the steady and rhythmic rise and fall of Mulder's chest under his blanket—actually her favorite gray chenille throw she'd dug out of her linen closet when she realized he was already asleep on top of her comforter. She could gaze for as long as she wanted at the juxtaposition of some of his more chiseled facial features with those she found to be so boyishly handsome. She observed as he occasionally kicked in his sleep, slowly but surely tugging the blanket further and further down his body, but his cheeks were red and he looked warm so Scully didn't bother tucking him in again. At least that seemed like a good excuse not to cover his exposed torso.

Scully considered removing the handcuffs because she knew how sore his wrists and hands would be in the morning. She hated the idea of causing him pain, but she thought he would probably warn her against removal if he were awake and aware. She also figured that if whatever had affected him was anything like that which infected the men in Nathan's lab, he could have sporadic episodes of outburst even when heavily sedated. She thought that, at least in Mulder's case, some sort of drug was actually the cause of his behavior as opposed to an infection from a disease, but she didn't want to risk it—though she wondered what the real risk would even be. That he would continue to declare his love for her? That he would try to kiss her again? Here, in her practical solitude with only a peacefully slumbering Mulder to influence her critical thought process, neither consequence seemed particularly awful.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Was she really actually admitting to herself that she had some sort of crush on Mulder? She was a grown woman, for goodness sake. She didn't get crushes. But the red-glow that burned instantly on her cheeks then stretched slowly across her whole face seemed to indicate otherwise. She put a few fingers to her temple and closed her eyes, trying to think logically.

She knew this shouldn't have surprised her. She had that thing for male authority figures, after all. But while Mulder often took the lead in their investigations, he was not as controlling as it would probably appear from the outside. Sure, he was often persuasive, but Scully felt like she did a good job of making him work for her cooperation—and did he ever really earn her approval or agreement?

Scully couldn't help but think back to the Rain King case in Kansas and her conversation with Sheila Fontaine in the bathroom at that God-awful high school reunion. They'd spoken about Mulder. Scully had assured Sheila that her relationship with Mulder was, at most, platonic. She'd definitely meant it at the time. He was her partner. Partner? Was it just yesterday that she and _Mulder_ had also spoken about the nature of their relationship? She'd meant what she'd said to him at the time, too, but now she felt so much more… entangled.

What was it that felt so off about this line of thinking? Was it that she was tiptoeing into the taboo… or that she'd been tap-dancing around it for far too long?

Scully opened her eyes again and looked carefully at Mulder. She remembered some other things she'd said to Sheila that night: that the best relationships are the ones rooted in friendship, that one day you might look at a person and see something you didn't before, that the person who was just a friend might suddenly turn into the only person you can imagine yourself with. Was this that instant for Scully?

She sighed and chuckled at the same time because she knew the answer. He really was the only person she could imagine herself with, wanted to imagine herself with. Her mood shifted as she considered the deeper possibility here. Then it wasn't just a consideration. It was a conclusion. It was a truth… it was _the_ truth.

Like a repressed memory that abruptly bubbled to the surface, this realization was disturbing to Scully, but it was also soothing. As she retroactively added the idea of _love_ into the context of everything that had happened over the years, many unexplained motivations—opportunities she'd given up, risks she'd taken, people she'd left behind—made sudden and perfect sense. Everything that felt crooked in her mind each time she thought of Mulder was now righted by this single revelation. The switch had been flicked and Scully didn't just suspect the truth, now she _knew_ it.

She was head-over-extra-high-heels in love with Fox Mulder.


	16. Love?

**Author's Note: **I know this is short, but at least it's something, right? Thanks for continuing to read. This has been so much fun for me because I'm usually a scrpit-format writer and I love digging into the inner thoughts of Mulder and Scully like this. More soon.

Scully slept on the chaise. Well, she napped. She woke periodically and checked Mulder's pulse and breathing. Sometime around 3:00 am, she noticed the flush had left his cheeks and felt a chill in the room so she gently untangled the gray blanket from his rarely still legs and pulled it up all the way to his chin.

Scully, on the other hand, needed no blanket at all that night. She was on fire from her insides out. She welcomed the draft of cool air as it crept into the room, hoping it could readjust her physical and mental thermostat. She curled up on her chair and tried to go back to sleep, but her mind was no longer interested in rest. Instead, it raced on a treadmill made of questions and doubts.

What the hell was she thinking? Letting herself fall for Mulder? It was inexcusable. It was irresponsible. It was inappropriate. It was also inevitable… and inescapable. She knew that now. Perhaps the feeling would fade over time, but she didn't think she would ever be able to turn it off entirely. And that realization was terrifying. Maybe it was because she so rarely thought deeply about her own feelings this way.

She sat up and observed Mulder again. They didn't discuss personal matters very often, especially hers, but when she did have those rare moments of self-discovery, Mulder was her go-to confidant. She trusted him implicitly, but unrequited love was a bit of a game-changer. Love. How could she be so stupid?

How could she have been so stupid for so long? Since it was the middle of the night and she was sleep-deprived, she accidentally started to consider what he might say if she confessed her feelings. He would be shocked, having never considered the idea of them together, but then maybe—no. No, she wouldn't fantasize that possibility because she knew it was an impossibility. There was nothing Mulder cared about more than his work, and Scully was integral to that—as his partner.

And she cared about the work, too. Not in the same way as Mulder and not for the same reasons, but certainly as deeply and as passionately. She wouldn't compromise the X-Files. For Mulder's sake and for her own. She promised herself that after this moment of indulgence, she would push these feeling aside, bury them deep inside and move on with her professional life. With the decision made, Scully found peace and was finally able to drift into uninterrupted sleep.


	17. Yabbering Bloke?

When the clock beside her bed read 7:00 am, Scully woke up. Mulder was asleep, looking more at rest now. His legs had stilled and the blanket clung cozily to his body. Scully stood over him, reaching down to feel his forehead. His temperature seemed to have stabilized down into the normal range. She traced her fingers across the hairline at his temple then slowly pulled her hand away, also letting go of her openness to the emotions of the night before.

Scully showered and, though it was Saturday, got dressed in one of her many black pantsuits. She had work to do today. She dug out the phlebotomy equipment she had stored with the small stash of medical tools she kept at her apartment. She was relieved to find what she needed to draw a vial of blood. It would have been nice to also get a urine sample so she could order a full toxicology screening, but since that was pretty much impossible, she figured the blood would at least be a good start.

She expected the process to wake Mulder, but when he didn't flinch as she injected the needle, Scully knew he was still experiencing the effects of the sleep medicine she'd administered. She didn't know how clearly he would be able to remember the events from the night before, if at all, and she was worried about leaving him bound to her bed. She examined his hands and saw the slight bruising at his wrists, but she still felt fairly certain he would tell her to keep him cuffed there until they could be sure there were no long-term alterations to his behavior. She would just have to get back as quickly as she could and hope he wouldn't wake before-hand.

She called Nathan and arranged to meet him at his office at 9:30. She felt guilty that he was so enthusiastically agreeable to this deal considering she already knew she would eventually have to break things off with him. It would be wrong to use him to occupy her time and mind when her heart wasn't really in it. It was tempting, though.

Scully tried not to think about Nathan or Mulder as she ran a few errands. She was fifty percent successful. Nathan was off her mind, but it was impossible not to consider of Mulder as she returned his tuxedo to the rental shop, thanking the girl behind the counter for giving Mulder the non-clip-on bowtie.

"You're welcome," the girl told her with a smile. So it _had_ been on purpose.

Scully also had no choice but to think of Mulder as she stopped by his place to pick up some clothes and toiletries. She'd had a key to his place for longer than she could remember. It was flattering to have the trust of someone whose motto was "trust no one," but, then, that thought only made her feel guilty about her feelings. She pushed it aside and stopped to feed his fish before quickly exiting the apartment.

She made one last stop at a tiny convenience store to grab a few packs of sunflower seeds and was on her way to Fairfax County.

When Scully got to Nathan's office, she was surprised to find Meredith greeting her as she walked in. Her mood was bright—a little too bright—as she led Scully past the patient rooms and into one of several labs.

"Any change in your patients?" Scully asked with mild interest.

"Not really," Meredith said. "Nathan tells me you want the tox screen first."

"That's correct.

"You knocked him out, huh?"

"Excuse me?

"Agent Mulder? Nathan said you had to drug him to shut him up."

"I administered a medication to induce sleep, at Mulder's request."

"I don't blame you. I can't imagine what I would do if a bloke I worked with started yabbering like that."

It was not lost on Scully that the _only_ potential "yabbering bloke" with whom Meredith worked was Nathan or that her words were dusted with a bittersweet tone that Scully couldn't quite characterize. She filed the observation away for later consideration as they walked into the laboratory.

Nathan sat on a stool, staring into a microscope. He smiled as the women walked into the room and got up to greet Scully with a warm, but chaste kiss on the lips. In her peripheral vision, she noticed Meredith take a step back, distancing herself from the scene. Scully blushed, but her reddened cheeks had little to do with the effect of the kiss itself and more to do with the thought of how she would feel if Mulder invited some other woman into their own basement office and proceeded to plant one on her right in front of Scully's face.

She'd be… well, she'd probably be pissed, but she'd control it, and it would simmer down into a mild annoyance that she would cover up with fake friendliness.

"Agent Scully, would you like some coffee?"

"Can't you just call her Dana?" Nathan asked with annoyance, the implication of a previous conversation quite evident. Meredith stared at him a moment, clearly irritated herself, but then she plastered on a smile and turned back to Scully.

"Dana, can I get you some coffee?"

Scully hadn't had much sleep and the caffeine would probably do her good. Besides, she wanted to give the other woman the chance to get out of the room and collect herself, an opportunity she'd like if she were in the same position. "Sure."

"I'll be right back—"

"She can have mine," Nathan offered. He grabbed a to-go Styrofoam cup with a plastic lid from some coffee shop whose name Scully didn't recognize. "Meredith gave it to me, but I haven't touched it."

Meredith's face fell for a millisecond, but she pulled it together. Scully was amazed she had missed this before. Meredith's feelings for Nathan were blatant, but well-controlled. She knew Mulder would have noticed, though. He probably _had_ noticed. He'd probably caught on the moment he'd met her. Scully had to wonder if he'd be able to see her own feelings so easily and made note to keep thoughts like that completely off her mind when she was around him.

Scully sipped Nathan's coffee. It was good. Strong. The effects of the caffeine seemed to hit her system with full force. "This is really good coffee."

Meredith and Nathan traded an amused look. Whatever tension that existed between them seemed forgotten.

"What?" Scully asked, wanting in on their inside information.

"That coffee." Nathan nodded toward the cup. "It's from Meredith's secret admirer."

Scully paused mid-sip and pulled the cup away from her mouth.

"There's not much secret about him, is there?" Meredith questioned with an amused, but embarrassed tone. "It's just one of our… benefactors."

"It's this creepy old guy who gives us a lot of money and fawns over Meredith any chance he can get."

"He fawns over both of us."

"But the _one_ of us who happens to be a beautiful woman gets most of the attention," Nathan said casually, but Scully saw the blush on Meredith's face as she pushed some hair out of her face. Scully knew it wasn't the creepy man's affection, but Nathan's words that had affected her.

"What he's saying," Meredith said, her emotions in check and her wit peeking out, "is that he enjoys pimping out his partner so he can get funding."

Nathan's smile at Meredith was purposefully sheepish. He shook his head, but said nothing as walked he back to his microscope. Meredith rolled her eyes, still amused by the conversation, but Scully also noticed the way her eyes lingered on Nathan.

"I'll go get the toxicology screening started, Agent—uh, Dana."

"Scully is fine," she told Meredith as she slipped the vial of Mulder's blood into Meredith's hand and gave the other woman what she hoped was a reassuringly friendly look. "Thank you."

Scully had to check herself. This super-model bombshell worked with the man she was seeing and clearly had an affection for him. Shouldn't Scully be jealous? Why was she suddenly rooting for them? Oh, right. The work partners-becoming-more-than just-friends story—it was her new favorite genre. Scully shook her head and realized Nathan had looked up from his microscope and was watching her.

"The old guy's harmless," Nathan said, confusing Scully for a moment until she realized he meant the coffee patron. "I just like giving Meredith a hard time."

Scully nodded and took another swig of the coffee. She wished the X-Files had a rich sponsor.

"Meredith will do the tox work-up in the other lab then she'll upload the results to the network and we can take a look in here. It shouldn't take long."

"I really appreciate this," Scully told him, walking closer to where Nathan worked.

He shook his head. "No problem. So Fox stayed at your place?"

Scully nodded once and hoped he would drop it.

"After you induced sleep, did he wake up again?"

"No. He's still asleep in my bed. Well, he was when I left."

Her bed. Scully couldn't believe she'd slipped up. Nathan processed her words and looked searchingly into her eyes. Scully knew what he was silently asking, but she knew he had the decorum not to speak the question aloud. She was thankful for his manners. Mulder would never be so polite. Scully took another sip of coffee to try and avoid further conversation.

"Well, hopefully he doesn't wake up and wander off while you're out."

"That won't be a problem," Scully told him.

Nathan nodded uncertainly, but didn't ask.

"I… left him a note telling him to stay put," Scully lied, though she wondered why she hadn't done so. It would certainly help with the confusion he might experience upon waking. She suddenly felt in a hurry. "How long does a typical toxicology screening usually—"

Scully was interrupted by a ding on Nathan's computer just a few feet away. He grinned at her then rolled his chair over and hit a button. "I told her to do the basics first. She'll look for 'the weird stuff' next."

Scully nodded and stood up to read over his shoulder, leaving the coffee behind by Nathan's microscope. He glanced up, noticing her proximity. He smiled at her, but she pretended not to notice.

"He's totally clean," Scully observed.

"Aside from the sleep aid," Nathan added.

"The alcohol is even gone from his system so I guess he was telling the truth about that one glass of champagne." Scully was baffled.

"If you want to wait while Meredith—"

"No. Just call me with anything else you find, okay?"

Scully backed toward the door. There was nothing else she could do here and she was worried about Mulder. If it hadn't been on the normal spectrum, whatever he was on could have more severe side effects than she'd anticipated and she wanted to be there when he woke up. If she wasn't already too late.

"Dana, hang on."

Nathan rose and made his way to her. "I'll also analyze his blood for any sign of contagion, virus, bacteria, etc.—"

"Okay, great," Scully cut him off.

"But I have to ask if there's any possibility that your partner's symptoms could be psychosomatic."

"Oh, come off it, Nathan." Meredith reappeared in the lab. "You don't believe in little green men or time travel, but you're perfectly willing to suggest that Mulder's mind tricked his body into that little display last night?"

"There are documented studies where people who were given non-alcoholic beverages they believed to be alcoholic started exhibiting signs of drunkenness."

Meredith laughed. "Yeah, but Mulder insisted he hadn't had a lot to drink so wouldn't it have had the reverse effect?"

Scully ping-ponged her look between the pair of doctors as she listened to both sides of their argument.

"I'm not saying he thought he was drunk. I just think perhaps after seeing our patients… maybe he—"

"I don't buy it," Meredith declared. "Agent Mulder may be known for being a little 'out there,' but he's also famously smart and in-control in the field. I just don't see him falling victim to something like that."

Scully had to agree, but she didn't want to speak up. She wanted to escape. She wanted to see Mulder. "I have to go, but I'll call later to see if you've found anything new. Goodbye and thank you for your help, both of you."

Scully made a beeline for the door and, though they fell silent, neither Nathan nor Meredith stopped her.

It wasn't until she was back on the groundfloor, walking through the last set of corridors before she would reach the exit that she heard someone behind her.

"Agent Scully?" Meredith chased Scully down the hallway. "Hang on there."

Meredith had nearly caught up to her when Scully turned around. "Yes?"

"Let's walk and talk," the beautiful Aussie said as she slowed her pace and sauntered down the hallway leaving Scully to chase after her now.

Scully quickened her pace and caught up to Meredith who glanced over her shoulder once or twice, but didn't speak.

"Well, what is it?" Scully wanted to know, uncertain of how to react to the doctor's unusual behavior.

Meredith slowed up and made a turn into a waiting room. Scully followed her into the room then sat in a chair across from the one Meredith had settled into.

"Okay, well," Meredith hedged. "I'd honestly prefer to have this conversation with Agent Mulder."

Of course she would. Scully tempered herself and tried to offer her best "you can tell me anything" smile.

"I want to start by saying I'm not trying to undermine Nathan's conclusions about Mulder's condition last night, but I'm suspicious that he's unwilling to look further simply because he's afraid of what he may find."

"I'm not sure I understand," Scully admitted.

"I know, but I don't think explaining it to you would help anyone right now so could you please just have Mulder call me when he's recuperated a bit?"

"What aren't you saying?" Scully asked, easily detecting Meredith's unease.

"It's personal, Agent Scully. Can we leave it at that?"

It was difficult to argue against "personal." Scully just shrugged, but nodded. "I'll tell him to call you."

"Thank you. The other thing I wanted to discuss with you is my current set of patients and their… condition."

"Which is a _separate_ issue to you, then?" Scully questioned.

"Of course." Meredith answered.

"Okay, then. What did you want to discuss?"

"Do you believe in soul mates?"

Scully chuckled. Now she was beginning to see why Meredith might want to have this conversation with Mulder. "I suppose I believe in compatibility. That two people are so perfectly suited to be with one another that there is no other choice."

"I'm not talking about compatibility. I'm talking about true soul mates. Two halves of the single soul that were split and separated, destined to forever seek one another.

"In that case, no. I don't believe in that," Scully admitted.

"Well, I do," Meredith claimed.

"I see," Scully said trying not to slip into the condescension she so often and naturally used with Mulder.

"And I believe my patients have somehow subconsciously discovered their own soul mates."

"Specifically, the people on whom they're fixated?" Scully asked, though the implication was easy to deduce and she already knew what Meredith's answer would be.

Meredith nodded. "I mean, what if we could sense it? What if we knew the exact right person to be with and we got so close, but we couldn't have him or her? It would probably drive you right mad, don't you think?"

"I suppose, but that scenario could exist without the idea of soul mates. It's just an unhealthy obsession. The stalker effect."

"Except, in this case, all these stalkers came down with the same disease. Odd, yeah?"

Scully already had a mental list of all the flaws in this theory Meredith had going, but she didn't want to further alienate the doctor because she knew Meredith would dig far deeper than Nathan would into Mulder's blood sample. She also suspected that, if asked, Mulder would assist Meredith and Nathan in this soul mate matter. It wasn't a case for the FBI, of course, but Mulder had a way of dragging Scully into his own personal hobby investigations, which this would surely become. Besides, she felt an odd solidarity with Meredith now. So she kept her criticism to herself.

"I'll tell Mulder to call you," Scully promised.


	18. Maggie?

**Author's Note: **You've gotten three chapters this weekend so please make sure you haven't skipped anything before you read this chapter. I always find the more real-world work I am supposed to be doing, the more productive my fanfic writing becomes... what is that? :) Anyway, Scully's still not home, but I kind of think you might like this chapter anyway. At least, I hope so. Either way, drop me a review and let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!

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When the sun somehow made its way through the basically closed blinds and tickled his eyelids, Mulder's eyes reluctantly fluttered open. He felt amazingly well-rested. Almost chipper.

Then, it hit him. Hard. He looked around and found himself in... Scully's bedroom? No way. But there was her dress messily strewn between the closet and the bedroom floor, imperfectly out of place. His tuxedo was nowhere to be seen, but at least he had on his boxers.

Still, he felt oddly exposed lying in Scully's bed with the covers tangled and kicked off around him. And he couldn't feel his fingers... or his hands. He rolled his eyes up to see handcuffs around his chafed and numb wrists, bonding him to the headboard.

What the hell?

"Scully?" he hissed softly. No reply.

Scully's portable phone was held to his right hand by a black rubber band style hair tie. In his left hand, a similar setup with a green toy gun. A water gun, Mulder realized. Well, he _was_ thirsty. He maneuvered the gun awkwardly and tried to aim toward his mouth, but when he squeezed the trigger with his tingling finger, a spurt of water shot directly into his eye.

Mulder twisted from side to side, but was impeded greatly by the cuffs. He discarded the useless water gun behind Scully's bed, but had to give her credit for being inventive. If it was even her who left him this way. But he couldn't think about that at the moment. He had to focus on the phone. He slid the band off and down so that it was around his wrist, switching his grip to the other hand so he could wiggle his fingers. He reversed the process several times and seemed to have the blood flowing again. Now. Now he could think.

"Scully?" he yelled out this time. No response.

Before he could even consider putting the pieces together—before he even had them out of the box—the phone rang. He looked up at the device in his hands, carefully hitting the speaker phone button.

"Scully, the half-naked, very confused guy handcuffed to your bed would very much like you to return, preferably with the key."

"Fox?"

Uh oh.

"Maggie?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone as the woman Mulder was sure was Scully's mother must have mulled over what she'd heard.

"May I speak with Dana?" she asked with as much put-on politeness as she could probably muster.

Mulder grimaced, one eye squinting tight. Scully was going to kill him. "I'm sorry, Maggie, but she's not here right now. Can I take a message?"

"Well… I was just calling to see how her date with Nathan Riley went last night?"

"Oh, it went… pretty good—_well_, I mean. It went well." As if correct grammar really mattered at this point. Mulder waited, but when Maggie didn't speak, he added in, "Was that all?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, that was all. Except, Fox?"

"Uh… huh?"

"Listen, you're not the one handcuffed to the bed, are you?"

"What? Handcuffed to the—oh, that? That was just a joke. Scully—Dana… she had to go back to the office to pick up some files for this case we're working on, and I just assumed it would be her calling."

"I see," Maggie said though Mulder would bet the contents of every case he'd ever worked on that she didn't believe anything he'd just said. "Well, just have Dana call me when she can."

"Will do."

"Goodbye, Fox."

"Bye."

Mulder hit the button to cut off the call and wondered how he would explain to Scully that he may have implied to her mother that she was into some kind of kinky S & M roleplay with her partner from work. He could only hope she would be in good humor when she returned. Whenever that would be.

He caught sight of the alarm clock by Scully's bed. It was past noon. He rarely slept that late. Mainly because he rarely slept that well. In fact, it had to have been drugs that knocked him out like that.

"Scully?" Silence. Where the hell was she?

He looked up at the phone again. Carefully, he cut it on and dialed her seven-digit cellular phone number. It rang loudly through the speaker phone.

"Scully?" came her answer.

"Scully, thank God."

"Mulder?"

"So listen, you know I'm into kinky as much as the next guy, but about these handcuffs… can we use the padded ones next time?"

"I'll be there in five minutes." Click.

"Don't forget your whip," he said to the dial tone.

He lay his head back on the pillow and tried to make himself comfortable as the reality of the situation hit him. He had no immediate recollection of how he'd ended up like this so he decided to go back to what he _could_ remember. He had picked her up and taken her out to Fairfax for the doctors' fundraiser. His memory lingered a moment on the picture of Scully in her black dress and high heels. She had been absolutely stunning. He remembered talking to Dr. Foster and seeing Scully dance with Dr. Perfect. He had been jealous at the time and, yep, he was still jealous. He remembered chugging the glass of champagne and hoped that it wasn't the start of a night of drinking… although that may have explained a lot.

But, no, he remembered the entire conversation with Foster and going to see her patients. He recalled when Scully came up with Dr. Riley and how he'd wanted to punch the guy. He still wouldn't mind getting in a good—

Then he remembered the rest. It came back to him just like a good dream fading away, but in reverse. First, bits and pieces popped out at him, and then the whole night crashed into his brain. His comments. Totally inappropriate, suggestive comments. To Scully. Her bedroom, his shower, the way he had touched her, what he had almost done.

Scully really was going to kill him. How could he have been so careless? Then he remembered that he couldn't help it. He had known what he was doing and both wanted and didn't want to do it. In the end, he had been able to control his actions though he couldn't remember how far he'd let his words go. He hoped he'd been able to hold back. Had he broken down and told her the ultimate truth? He closed his eyes, trying to raise the memory, but unable.

Whatever had happened, he could only hope that Scully had taken him seriously when he'd warned her not to believe anything he might say over the course of the previous night. If she had any inkling that what she heard was actually his uncensored self spewing out truth after unfiltered truth, there was no way he could push his denials on her now. Scully could always see through every one of Mulder's littlest of white lies, but what he didn't know was if she could be fooled into looking past the biggest truth he'd ever tried to hide from her.


	19. Soul Mates?

**Author's Note: **This week is way too hectic and this may be all I can post until the weekend. It's painfully short, I know, but I figured something is better than nothing. Besides, this chapter is super-fun and I really, really wanted to share it. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as I did to write. Make sure you're all caught up on previous chapters before you read :) Oh, and remember, reviews are the dessert of the fanfic writing process and, I don't know about you guys, but I love dessert :) THANK YOU all for hanging in there with my sporadic chapter posts :)

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Mulder heard the front door open, heard a collection of thuds as belongings were dropped to the ground, heard the quick pace of Scully's heels as they click-clomped down the hallway toward him. He was relieved and anxious for release from his restraints, but he was also embarrassed, blushing already in anticipation of finding out the full story of the night before.

Scully burst into the room. "Mulder. There you are."

"Right where you left me," he said to a rather blank stare, "I mean, I assume."

She was all-business Scully in her pantsuit and pumps. It seemed weird for a Saturday, but at least that meant she was treating this situation like work—that she was distanced, not personally involved with (or insulted by) what had transpired the previous night.

"Mulder, do you believe in soul mates?" she asked with the utmost sincerity.

Did he believe in… what? Was Dana Scully honestly—standing there in her work clothes and speaking in a tone she usually reserved for fact and science—asking him if he believed in the idea of soul mates: that each person was half of an original whole, separated and fated to search for the other? Duh. They had danced around the concept on several of their cases together. Of course, he believed. Not only that, he thought she was his.

"I do. And I think you're mine."

For a moment, Mulder wondered if he was still afflicted by whatever had taken over last night, still speaking every thought that came to his head. But, no, he'd yet to reply to her question. The words were all hers.

Scully, the measured and careful Scully, was not there in the room with Mulder. She was, instead, trapped somewhere deep inside her own head, screaming at herself to stop, warning herself she was taking this too far, but unable to outwardly deny her connection and attraction.

Surely this was a joke, a ruse that she was using as an opening to impart important information. He decided to call her bluff with some humor of his own. "From partner to soul mate in two days, huh, Scully? Must be some kind of bureau record."

"You're saying you don't feel the same way," she deduced.

"I... What?" he choked out.

"Maybe I can change your mind."

With that, Scully kicked off her shoes and let her jacket slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. She strolled toward him until she reached the edge of the bed.

"Look, Scully, quit fooling around and unlock these cuffs, would ya?"

"Not yet."

Mulder knew then that something was wrong. It wasn't just her refusal to ease his horribly uncomfortable situation. More telling was her appraising scan of his bare body, how she chewed on her lower lip, the silky white shirt that she was slowly… unbuttoning?

"Scully, Jesus. Put your clothes back on," he told her as she removed her shirt and threw it back with her shoes and jacket. Mulder turned his head, embarrassed for both of them.

The imprisoned Scully, the almost unconscious Scully, the one trying to snap herself out of this ridiculous, single-minded trance, tried to have an effect on whatever was in charge of her body. It was no use. Her pants were already off and she was slipping away. She could only hope—though she'd spent most of the night and nearly all morning considering the possibility of the opposite—that Mulder was truly as physically unaffected by her as she thought he was. Then she was gone. Reason was replaced entirely by the quest for immediate gratification.

She had to touch him… kiss him… _have_ him. She didn't hesitate before climbing into bed with him.

"Scully, you can't—"

The sharp inhale of his own lungs cut him off as she slowly slid her squirming fingers from the waistband of his boxers all the way up to his collarbone. He exhaled slowly as he felt goose bumps explode all over his upper body.

"I can't _what_?" she demanded slyly as she gripped his shoulders and brought her leg across his body, her inner thighs against the outsides of his hips.

"This isn't what you want." His voice wasn't even a whisper.

She chuckled and arched an eyebrow, managing, even now, to look skeptical of Mulder's proposed theory. "Actually, Mulder, _you_… are exactly what I want."

Mulder was hardly a man of few words. He didn't even know how to shut up on most occasions. But this? _This_ left him speechless.


	20. ScScully?

**Author's Note: **First and foremost, thank you to my new beta reader IAmLoisLane. You guys have no idea how much this chapter might have sucked without her. Second, well, there really is no second except to say that I hope you like this chapter-and if you do, hit "review" and let me know. Thanks for continuing to read!

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Scully was messed up. That much he knew. She was out of control just as he had been the night before. For just a moment, he indulged in that daydream: that she was driven, as he had been, by the truth. Along with that, he also treated himself to the kisses she was trailing across his collarbone.

Kisses? Oh, he had to stop her. He really had to st—she leaned in and placed her lips against the back of his jaw, pressing her bare torso against his own uncovered upper body in the process. It was too much. It felt too good. It seemed too right. He didn't know if he could muster the will power to even speak, let alone stop her.

As her mouth stalked along his jaw line and her fingers found their way into his hair, Mulder knew where this was leading—where she was taking them—and while he was reasonably sure he would intervene before they got as far as Scully was willing to go, he wasn't sure the same was true regarding the kiss that crept ever closer to his lips.

"Sc-Scully?" Her reply was as nonexistent as when she wasn't in the apartment.

Scully's lips made their way to Mulder's chin, and he was determined to cut this short. All these years without much more than a kiss on the forehead, and he refused to let _this_ be the first real kiss they shared. Then again, this would probably be the only shot he'd ever get at finding out what her lips would feel like against his.

He was only conflicted for about two seconds. She wasn't herself, and despite what she said, she didn't want him. And she certainly wouldn't want this. Still, he was handcuffed to the bed so stopping her was going to require at least a little cooperation on Scully's part. He was going to have to get creative, and before that, he was going to need to get her attention.

"Scully, listen to me, you're on something."

"Mmm? Yeah? What am I on?" Her questions were unconcerned, placating.

"Well, first and most inappropriately, me," he said, only partially joking.

She giggled. Except Dana Scully didn't giggle. Hell, it was rare if he could even get a laugh out of her. Where was the scoff? Where was the eye roll? Where was _Scully_? Was it possible that this wasn't even her at all, but some evil twin, pod person or alien shapeshifter? Mulder considered his own experience last night and felt sure this was connected. Not identical, obviously, but certainly related. It was her—at least in the physical sense.

"Seriously, Scully, I think someone slipped you something."

He watched her usually skeptical eyebrow arch in what Mulder interpreted as amusement. His mind landed on the innuendo-interpretation of his previous statement, and he was the one who rolled his eyes.

"Okay, come on now, mind out of the gutter. Did you eat or drink anything unusual today? Where did you go? Who were you with?"

"Shut up, Mulder. For once, just shut up with your conspiracy theories and your blah, blah, blah. Shut up… and go with it." She placed a hushing finger to his lips and relocated her kisses to his neck.

These weren't gentle nips or hickey-inducing suck-bites, but rather perfectly-pressured pecks that made him momentarily forget how screwed up this whole situation was becoming—had already become. Each time she paused for air, he felt her warm breath sizzle across his skin in a way that kicked up the fire already smoldering just below the surface.

Mulder seriously contemplated how much of an ass he would be if he did exactly as she'd demanded, if he shut up and let her do whatever she wanted with him. It'd be one hell of a walk of shame down to their basement office on Monday morning. That and he would never take advantage of her. But was letting her take advantage of him the same thing? Hadn't he already decided he needed to stop her? The pros and cons, the rights and wrongs were starting to blur, big-time.

Scully traced her tongue along Mulder's earlobe then spoke softly into his ear, describing what she planned to do to him and using language Mulder knew he'd never heard her utter before. In fact, he wasn't even sure the operators on his favorite nine hundred line would be willing to use words like those… and it wasn't exactly a turn-off, but it certainly brought Mulder back to reality.

Scully pulled away a little so she could look him in the eye as she slid her hand down his body toward—

"Scully, cut it out!" Mulder twisted his hips, and then made a hard motion to his side, dumping Scully onto the bed next to him.

She sat there on her side with her arm propping her up. Her look was pouty as she lazily traced her free hand across Mulder's abdomen.

"You know, Mulder, I'm not doing this because I can't control myself. I'm doing it because, for once, I don't want to. You should try it."

Mulder smiled up at her as she almost sounded logical enough to be her usual self. He also got an idea.

"Scully, get me out of these cuffs," he begged with his own put-on pout.

"Where's the fun in that?" she taunted.

"You expect me to lose control when I'm all chained up like this?" He rattled the metal restraints against her headboard and could tell he had her attention. "Come on, Dana, please?"

She gnawed her bottom lip as she considered the request.

"I just want to touch you," he promised, and it wasn't exactly a lie. He hoped his smile was the right mix of sexy and charming. Normally, he wouldn't be able to fool her, but he felt like maybe this alterna-Scully would be more likely to go along with his ridiculously stupid ideas.

"You won't run away?" she wanted to know as she ran her fingers through his hair and gave him goose bumps.

"From you? Never."

She narrowed her eyes and, for a moment, he thought she was as onto him as she would be when sober, but then she grinned. She climbed over him and opened the top drawer of her nightstand from which she retrieved the key.

Thank God. Mulder watched her straddle him again. She paused there, looking from the key to the cuffs. Mulder hoped her hesitation wasn't a sign of a changing mind.

"Please?" he urged sweetly. "I've got to get my hands on you."

"Okay." She finally unlocked one cuff then the other. He pulled his arms down slowly, feeling the pins and needles as the nerves popped back to life. He rubbed his wrists, buying time, trying to figure out how to get the upper hand.

"You said you wanted to touch me, Mulder," she said as she bit her lip and tossed the cuffs and key onto her nightstand. "So touch me."

Mulder put his hands on her hips, some fingers hitting flesh, others hung up in her entirely too sexy black panties. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

"Listen, Scully," he couldn't resist the small confession, "if you ever do this sober, I swear I won't say no. Sorry about this in advance."

Scully opened her eyes and tilted her head, presumably seeing that she'd been had. She reached for the handcuffs, but Mulder tightened his grip on her waist and flipped her down onto the bed. He put his legs on either side of her hips in an attempt to hold her down. His hands got to the handcuffs just a second before hers could push them away, and he had no trouble shackling her to the headboard, but that didn't stop her from flailing, sending every part of her body against various parts of his in what wasn't an altogether unpleasant way.

Still, he knew it was futile to try and restrain her. Scully was clearly pissed and, no matter what the situation, when she was pissed, Mulder knew well enough to get the hell out of her way. He hopped up and quickly backed away from the bed. She glared at him from her restraints, but otherwise said nothing.

As a general rule, Mulder wasn't a bondage guy, but as Scully settled down and stopped thrashing, he had to admit there was something extremely hot about her in those handcuffs. Or maybe it was the lack of clothing. Probably some combination of both—or perhaps it was simply that she could be lying there in a hazmat suit and he would still want to make love to her.

He took pause to consider the fact that the phrase "make love" had been the one to occur to him. Usually, in his own private thoughts, "have sex" was replaced by something far less euphemistic. Then again, allowing himself to think—really think—of Scully in that way was altogether new for him.

She caught him staring just as he caught himself.

"If you change your mind," Scully told him, "I won't hold it against you."

Mulder had to laugh at that. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you would."

Off that, he went into the bathroom to hunt for whatever sleeping pills she'd used on him the night before. It had been easy for her because he'd _wanted_ the pills, but he had no clue how he was going to get her to swallow them down today.

He vaguely remembered a time when he and Samantha had been tasked with giving a pill to an elderly neighbor's pet cat. Needless to say, things hadn't gone well when he'd sat on the cat and tried to shove the pill down its throat. As he'd tended to his deep cuts with iodine and bandaids, he watched Samantha try a different approach.

Mulder had suggested she try to hide the pill in some tuna, but Samantha had ignored him and called "kitty, kitty, kitty" until the cat approached her. She petted and scratched the beast until it was a puddle of purring mush in her lap. Mulder recalled how completely shocked and supremely pissed off he'd been after he'd watched Samantha gently tickle the cat's lip, causing the damn thing to open its mouth and let her drop the pill down its throat.

It taught a valuable lesson, though—aside from the obvious one about keeping fish for pets instead of cats—and it gave him a plan for how to handle Scully.

When Mulder exited the bathroom with two pills and a glass of water, Scully was still and silent. Mudler set the pills and water down on the nightstand and sat next to her on the bed without a word. "Are you cold?"

"I'm fine," she snapped, but then added coyly, "unless you want to cuddle."

"Maybe some other time." Any other time. "You've gotta be cold."

"You have on less than I do," she countered, her eyes trailing down to his boxers.

"Questionable," he teased and took one last, unabashed look at Scully before he pulled the soft gray blanket across her bare body. He turned back to her and met her eyes with a small smile. "Listen, Scully, I found the sleeping pills you gave me last night and I was thinking maybe you'd like to—"

"Just give me the damned pills and let's get this night over with."

Mulder tried not to let himself feel bad for rejecting the woman who, on any other night of the week, would be the one doing the declining in this situation.

"Scully, I told you—"

"Pills, Mulder."

After he dropped the pills in her mouth and held the glass while she sipped the water, Scully stared off in the other direction, not making eye contact. She did turn back to him, though, when he pushed several stray locks of hair back off her face, then leaned in to plant a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Oh, so now you want some action?" she asked bitter, but playful enough.

Mulder chuckled and slid down to the floor, resting his head on the edge of the bed.

"Scully, you have no idea."


	21. Blueberry Pancakes?

**Author's Note: **Finally a "long" chapter. Relatively speaking, anyway. Thanks to my awesome beta reader IAmLoisLane. And thanks to you guys. Review if you have anything at all to say about this chapter :) Thanks!

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Mulder wasn't exactly a notoriously bad cook. There just wasn't much evidence against him one way or another. He considered ordering food, but it was two in the morning and most of the places in Scully's neighborhood—at least the ones that were worth a damn—stopped delivering at midnight. So, instead, he raided Scully's cabinets and refrigerator.

Mulder managed to round up the ingredients for pancakes. He even found some "lite" syrup in the back of a top cabinet Scully couldn't possibly reach. It was exactly one week past its expiration date, but because he'd found some still-fresh blueberries in the vegetable drawer of her refrigerator, he decided the risk of rancid syrup was worth it. Besides, if he got sick, there was a doctor sleeping just down the hall.

Granted, Dr. Scully was incapacitated at the moment, but considering his own complete recovery, he wasn't too worried about any long-term effects. She just needed to sleep it off like he had.

While it had been tortuous at the time, he had to chuckle at her behavior from earlier in the day. Purposefully-sexy-Scully actually played as cute and charming, and that was all kinds of appealing to Mulder. Damn. He was done. He was _so_ done.

And what the hell was he going to do about it? Nothing. Well, he was going to try and play it off. That was for sure. He still couldn't remember just what he'd said to Scully, but it couldn't have been that bad. Riiight. Mulder decided to focus on his pancakes.

Down the hall and in her bedroom, Scully woke up and sat up simultaneously, causing her chenille throw to bunch around her waist. The room was dark and her head was spinning. A hangover? It felt like the worst hangover ever. But she hadn't been drinking. Or had she? She looked at the clock and was startled to see that it was after two in the morning.

She also realized she was half-naked, wearing just her undergarments. Then she heard someone whistling from her kitchen. Mulder? Mulder. The dam of memories broke and her mind was flooded. She'd tried to seduce him. Unsuccessfully. He'd fought her off and given her some sleeping pills. Thankfully. He'd also cuffed her to the headboard, but she was free now. And had she asked him to cuddle? She couldn't quite remember. The words weren't as clear as her ridiculous behavior.

She swung her feet over the edge of the bed. When they hit the floor and she tried to stand, she tripped over the trail of clothes she'd left leading to the bed and almost fell flat on her face. She sat back down in an attempt to compose herself.

In the kitchen, a whistling Mulder stood at the counter dressed in a pair of jeans and a gray pocket t-shirt he'd found in one of his own travel bags near the front door. He'd also used the collection of toiletries Scully had packed for him to shower, shave and refresh. Near his belongings, Scully's purse and keys had been tossed haphazardly along with a convenience store paper bag carrying a few packs of sunflower seeds and the tuxedo rental return receipt.

As Mulder collected his pancake ingredients to a central location, he had to wonder if the clothes he was wearing were the first items she grabbed or if these jeans and this t-shirt had somehow won her favor over others. If so, just how had they gotten so lucky? He also pondered her other thoughtful gestures. She'd returned his tux, picked up his favorite pacifier snack and, somehow, remembered to pack his aftershave in with the standard overnight gear. Who else on earth would have his back like Scully always did? Mulder could think of no one. There was not one other person on this planet that treated him as well as she did. What had previously been a sudden realization of love and affection was starting to take on the more subtle contours of something much deeper, something for which Mulder was sure he had no precedent.

Mulder had the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and milk in a mixing bowl. He just needed to add two eggs and he'd have what might turn out to be one of his best batches of pancakes to date. Granted, it would probably be something like best out of three, but he only had himself to impress and he was starving—that alone was usually enough to make something mediocre taste delicious.

Just as Mulder hit the first egg on the side of the bowl, he heard Scully's footsteps.

"Mulder?" she asked, sounding—much to his relief—like her normal self.

"Mornin', tiger. Ready for round two?" he greeted her with only half a glance. He was fine with the forced flirtation, but eye contact was going to take a little momentum.

Scully stood in the kitchen doorway, now dressed in her favorite fluffy robe, with her arms crossed and a confused expression wrinkling her brow. Mulder was cooking in her kitchen? Forget everything that had transpired over the past day. _This_ was strange.

"Who are you and what have you done with Agent Mulder?" she wanted to know.

Half his mouth pulled into a smile, and he popped one of the fresh blueberries through his lips. "I could ask the same about you and Agent Scully."

"Don't worry. Agent Scully is right here."

He finally found the courage to turn to her as he swallowed the sweet blue fruit. "Yeah, well, ditto for Agent Mulder. It's okay if I use these, right?"

Scully watched him indicate a pack of blueberries she didn't even remember she had. When she nodded her permission for their use, Mulder dumped two handfuls into the mixing bowl and turned to tend to his concoction.

Scully took a few tentative steps into her kitchen. She noticed the ingredients and saw the bottle of syrup that she was sure had to be near its expiration date. Pancakes. Blueberry pancakes. As she neared the counter and saw his batter, her suspicions were confirmed. He was stirring a bit too vigorously and some of the small fruit balls were breaking and bleeding, coloring the whole batter to a shade of lavender. She noticed his wrists then, a similar, but darker shade of purple.

"Oh, Mulder," she grimaced as she gingerly traced her fingers across the wrist he was using to steady the bowl, causing his grip to slip slightly. "We should put some ice on that to help—"

"Scully, I'm fine," he told her, but it was more reassuring than dismissive.

"Okay. Well, if you want some Tylenol—"

"Already took some."

"Which explains why I couldn't find the bottle in the medicine cabinet."

He chuckled. "Yeah. Sorry. It's over there."

Scully found the bottle of pills on the counter next to the sink.

"Your wrists are okay, aren't they? I tried to get the cuffs off you right after you fell asleep," Mulder told her, trying to get a peek at her hands as she filled a glass with water.

"My wrists are great. My head, not so much," she confessed.

"Really? When I woke up, I felt like a million bucks," he admitted as he heated up a frying pan on the stove.

Scully shrugged and washed down two pills with a long sip of water. She stared into the glass, thankful that, for once, Mulder didn't have his appraising eyes on her. As she sipped the water, she considered how best to proceed. Her first thought—now that she knew they were both basically okay—was escape. She was incredibly embarrassed and figured she could at least buy some time by taking a shower.

Besides, Mulder was way ahead of her in the self-maintenance department. His hair was still wet from his own shower and the spicy scent of his aftershave made her glad she'd remembered to grab it. His fresh, clean clothes—his best pair of jeans that hung off his hips at just the right place and her favorite of his t-shirts that clung to his biceps and dipped a little lower than normal at the neckline—were more appealing to her than they'd ever been. Maybe the drug hadn't left her system entirely because she was having a hard time keeping her eyes off him as he flipped his first pancake.

Mulder felt her stare and knew she was feeling as uncertain and uncomfortable as he was. He thought about suggesting she grab a shower so they could both have a little time to regroup. He really had no idea how he was going to explain himself or his behavior, but he knew he would lie if he had to—and was glad he had the ability to do so again.

He was about to tell her to go get cleaned up, but he caught sight of her out of his peripheral vision and decided against it. She was too damn adorable to send away. Her hair was normally neat and her usual styling offered a certain degree of symmetry. Now, one side stayed perfectly curled under, but the other flipped out defiantly and, though she tried to tuck it behind her ear, escaped again, plunging into her face.

Mulder focused all his attention back to his pancakes, but the remembered image of Scully in that bulky robe was so pleasant, he had to steal another look. It provided him with very little exposed skin, save about six inches of her calf between the robe and her now sock-clad feet. There was also a little sliver of her chest where the robe made a V. She hadn't put on a shirt, and Mulder couldn't help but think of how, just twelve hours ago, that same area of skin had pressed against his own body. He took a deep breath and told himself they would have to discuss it all sooner or later. Why not just get it over with?

"So… it's been a weird twenty-four hours, huh?" he asked and met her eyes with what he knew was a tentative smile. He couldn't do any better. When he saw her look away, he honestly felt glad he wasn't the only one feeling humiliated.

Scully steeled herself. She had to make light of it, make it seem like no big deal, dismiss it all. Otherwise, she would give herself away.

"_You're_ calling something weird? Now I'm worried," she teased carefully.

Mulder started cooking two more pancakes, finding he had room for both in the one pan. He knew they needed to clear the air. "So, look, Scully—"

"We don't have to talk about it," she quickly interjected.

Mulder tested the edges of his cooking pancakes, debating whether they were ready for a flip. Finally, he asked, "Which part?"

"Any of it."

"As tempted as I am to take you up on that, shouldn't we try to figure out what happened? I mean, we were both drugged, clearly. I can't remember half of what I said. You probably can't remember half of what you did—"

"No. Actually, I have the distinct misfortune of remembering it all."

"Oh, come on. It wasn't that bad." Mulder flipped his pancakes.

"It _was_ that bad, Mulder. I feel extremely foolish."

"It's not like you could help it… anymore than I could help it."

"At least you were able to control yourself."

Mulder had pondered the whole incident in the twelve plus hours Scully had been knocked out. He'd used that exact piece of evidence to come to the conclusion that the disparity in their behavior was caused by one of two things. Either it was a dosage issue—she'd been given a larger dose or it just registered as such because she was so much smaller—or they were given different drugs entirely.

"I guess I'm just not as attracted to you as you are to me, Scully," he joked, but when he saw her glare, he added seriously, "I think we were given different drugs. How long do you suppose something like that would stay in the system? We probably need to get a blood sample drawn and—"

"I'm one step ahead of you, Mulder. I took a sample of your blood to Nathan and Meredith yesterday. I'll collect a sample of my own—"

"You drew my blood?" Mulder looked down at his arm, noticing the small, but barely noticeable puncture wound. "You're good."

"Here's the thing, though. They didn't find anything in the preliminary results. Meredith is going to look into some broader testing, but—"

"Do you think it was the best idea to go to them?"

"What do you mean?"

Mulder hesitated in sharing this theory. He delayed by trading out a pair of done pancakes for a two new scoops of batter. "It just seems like anytime one of us goes to their lab, we end up… I mean, doesn't it strike you as odd—"

"Are you suggesting one of them is responsible for this?"

"Or both," Mulder threw out with a casual shrug.

"But, why?"

"I don't know, and my gut is against the idea, but I definitely want to talk to them about it. I wanted to put it together with their patients pretty bad, you know? I thought maybe we were affected in the same way, but—"

"Speaking of those patients, Meredith wanted you to call her. She has a theory she wants to run by you. Something about soul mates."

"Soul mates?" he asked with a gleam in his eye.

"Yeah, why?"

"It's just… yesterday… you were talking about soul mates." He hesitated before adding, "You said I was your soul mate."

"I didn't say that." Had she?

"Okay." Mulder said in a tone that indicated everything but concession. He added the last portion of batter to the pan.

"Mulder, you should know by now that I don't believe in—"

"I do know what you don't believe in, Scully. Or, at least, it's pretty easy to guess. And I'm not saying it was true. I'm just saying you said it."

"Do _you_ believe in soul mates?"

Mulder laughed and removed the last pancake from the pan. "Funny, that's what you asked me before you tried to jump my bones."

Scully closed her eyes, her blush spreading across her face. "Didn't I say we don't have to talk about this?"

He let her off the hook. "Of course, I believe in soul mates. Two parts of one soul searching for each other for eternity. It's so—"

"Depressing. What are the odds of finding that one in five billion half-souls floating around out there?"

"Uh… one in five billion, I suppose," he ribbed her then added, "And those are just the ones currently occupying bodies."

"Seriously, Mulder, isn't this all just a bit transcendental for you?"

"Not at all."

"Well, at least it'll give you something to talk about on your next date with Meredith."

"Our next date? Scully, Dr. Foster and I aren't going to work out. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll be glad to pick her brain on a professional matter, but she's not—"

"Your soul mate?"

"I don't think so, no."

"But you're so compatible."

"Scully, being soul mates isn't about compatibility."

"It's not?"

"It's about being complementary," Mulder explained.

"Complementary… with an e?"

"With an e, right. Two halves of the same whole."

"Like yin and yang?"

"No."

"Opposites attract?"

"Not exactly."

By then Mulder had a stack of pancakes on two plates. They smelled delicious and Scully really had no idea when the last time she'd eaten had been. When Mulder held out the plate to her, she accepted them with a grateful smile. She poured on some syrup and turned toward her utensil drawer, but Mulder held out a fork and knife.

"Thanks."

Scully leaned against the counter as she ate her pancakes. "God, Mulder. These pancakes are delicious."

"Probably doesn't hurt that you haven't eaten in almost a day."

"No, really, they're terrific. I had no idea you could cook at all—let alone well."

"Oh, so you're into the domestic type, huh, Scully? I had no clue all these years of ordering takeout were secretly working against me."

She stared at him, trying to fight off a smile. "You were saying, Mulder, about soul mates… ?"

"Right. I was just trying to make the point that soul mates aren't opposites any more than they're compatible… they just…"

Mulder picked up a discarded egg shell from the counter top. He faced Scully and showed her the two halves of the shell in his two separated hands. He slowly eased the halves together, carefully spinning them until they matched up.

"Soul mates fill in each other's cracks," he told her. "And even though there may still be a small little gap here or there, it's basically a perfect fit."

"Complements," Scully nodded, finally seeing his reasoning—not that she bought it.

"With an e," Mulder grinned, his own stack of pancakes in hand. He tipped his head so Scully would follow him as he grabbed the syrup and made his way to her kitchen table where he took a seat.

Scully complied and, though she really didn't believe that two people could be half of an original soul, she certainly believed Mulder could be her perfect complement. Not that she was going to bring that up now.

"Anyway, don't worry, Scully. I know you don't really think I'm your soul mate. That's—"

"As crazy as all the 'weird' stuff _you_ said last night. Or was that technically the night before last?"

"Yeah… about that… "

Scully took a seat at the kitchen table. "Don't worry, Mulder. I know you don't really think you're in love with me."

Mulder practically dropped his plate onto the table. She had him there. He didn't really think he was in love with her. He knew it. He tried to be smoother as he took his seat, but he couldn't believe he'd actually said the words aloud—more so that he couldn't remember doing it. "What else did I say?"

Scully had to finish chewing before she could speak. In the meantime, as Mulder took his first bite, he dripped syrup onto his shirt. He started to get up, but Scully was already offering him a napkin. The naturalness with which they filled in the tiniest of gaps in each other's lives was probably overlooked by Scully, but it was not lost on Mulder. He grinned as he wiped the syrup away.

"Mostly… it was just your average run of the mill sexual harassment stuff."

"Oh, now all that was basically true, I think," he said casually, but with the hint of a smile. He watched her cheeks flush. He never realized it before, through all his innocent innuendo, but he actually had the ability to affect her. Sure, she was still rolling her eyes and pretending to think he was an idiot, but there was something else, too. Something he had never noticed until this moment. He knew she would never love him and he would eventually be able to make peace with that, but to know that she was actually, legitimately flattered by his words and, maybe, a little attracted to him—even just enough to make her blush like this—brought heat to his own face. "And if what I said to you was sexual harassment, I'm pretty sure you brought on a full-fledged assault against me."

Scully was silent. She maintained eye contact because it was the only way to pass as unaffected. She blinked and finally said, "Let's just agree that whatever we said or did over the past 24-hours was beyond our control and not what we would say or do normally."

"Except me thinking you looked pretty damn good in that dress and you wanting to get it on."

"Don't be a jerk."

"How am I being a jerk? I'm paying you a compliment. Compliment. With an i, by the way."

Scully released a puff of air in a near silent scoff and took another bite of her pancakes. She wondered if knowing how she felt about him would at least curb his playful attempts at flirtation.

"And, I want to put on record that if Sex Kitten Scully ever wants to make a reappearance—"

"She doesn't. Ever."

"Okay. Asked and answered. Moving on."

"Since we're putting things on record…"

"Yeah?" Mulder asked.

"If you ever want to legitimately seduce a woman—"

"Are you suggesting such a thing is possible? I thought you were against extreme possibilities."

Scully ignored him and pushed on. She had to be playful and she wanted to be honest. "Lovesick Puppy Mulder, while clearly misdirected, was almost appealing."

That was nice to know. "Why, Scully, are you saying there was actually a moment in your life when you _almost_ found me appealing?"

"I'm saying there was a possible… _brief_ moment when, under the influence of some type of drug… you weren't entirely unappealing."

This was good. Scully was glad she could say these things without spontaneously combusting, glad she hadn't lost the ability to mock him or to remain mostly unaffected when teased by him (at least, she hoped he hadn't noticed the effect some of his words had on her). Granted, while he over-exaggerated everything, her jokes came in the form of understatement.

Mulder knew they had taken the conversation to a place where neither of them was entirely comfortable. But he knew it had been a good thing. He'd put it out there, mostly in the slightly more relaxed form of humor, and now they could move past it. He wouldn't hold it against her that his compliments could make her blush, and she would never know how much of a "lovesick puppy" he truly was.

Now they could move on to the important stuff—like who had done this to them… and how… and why. Mulder, naturally, had a few theories.


	22. Just Mulder?

**Author's Note: **It's been a little too long since the last update so I thought I better post something. I was sort of planning to advance to the next day, but I guess Mulder and Scully weren't quite ready for that :) Thanks to all of you for reading and to IAmLoisLane for her mad beta skills. Reviews are like sunflower seeds. That is all.

* * *

When they finished the pancakes, Scully took their plates back to the sink, preparing to do the dishes and clean up the fallout from Mulder's sloppy (but tasty) endeavor into cooking—a mess that was still strewn about her typically tidy kitchen. Just as she finished washing the first plate, she was surprised to find Mulder right next to her, taking the dish to rinse and dry.

They worked together on the dishes in near silence as a perfectly efficient team. When they were done, they tackled the rest of the mess in the kitchen without once getting in each other's way. When Mulder grabbed the bag of trash and nodded to the door to indicate he was taking it out, Scully tilted her chin down in acknowledgment of his plan then smiled at him in a way he wasn't quite sure he'd ever seen before. He was taken aback by the warmth of it and not at all willing to walk away.

Scully was aware of the affection behind her smile, she knew it bordered on adoring. But this was Mulder… taking out her trash. The same man who couldn't even properly squeeze a tube of toothpaste suddenly seemed quite capable of meeting her high standards of household cleanliness. And he was focused on it… as opposed to some x-file… or even the strange circumstances surrounding the past 24 hours. They'd discussed those topics briefly, but then he actually allowed them to be put on hold, if even until tomorrow—if even for five minutes. Usually, with Mulder, the only things worth procrastinating were personal tasks—laundry, dentist appointments… taking out the trash. Then again, he was lingering in the doorway for some reason.

"What?" she asked him.

"You're the one looking at me all moony, Scully" he teased, further stalling his trip down to the dumpster and away from his beautiful partner.

"It's just… let's face it, Mulder… you're usually kind of a slob."

"Wow, two points for honesty," he said only pretending to be offended

"Do you deny the accusation?" she said with the arched eyebrow he was starting to appreciate for more than its skepticism.

"I don't suppose so, no."

"Then what gives, Mulder? Cooking? Cleaning? Are you sure Agent Mulder is still here with us?"

Mulder chuckled and leaned against the doorframe. "So maybe I'm _not_ Agent Mulder right now. Maybe I'm just… you know… Mulder."

"I wasn't aware such a person existed."

Mulder smirked and headed out with the trash, but as he walked down the stairs and into the alley, he thought about her observation. Was there any other side to him than the one he presented to her—and to the rest of the world—on a daily basis? Agent Mulder. Spooky Mulder. Obsessed-with-Work Mulder. Did _Just_ Mulder actually exist? Had he ever existed?

For as long as he could remember, Mulder had been chasing "the truth," and he knew it wasn't a quest he'd ever give up. Maybe that's why he found Scully so appealing—he knew she wouldn't ask him to give up his search and that she'd be right there with him, anytime he needed her.

He didn't take these facts for granted. He knew how close she'd come to walking away six months before, to transferring to Salt Lake City or resigning or returning to medicine-whatever it was she told him that translated to leaving the X-Files—to leaving him—behind. But he'd clumsily poured his heart out to her then, and she'd stayed. He wondered how that same conversation would go today… now that the contents of his heart had shifted. Would desperation to keep her by his side cause him to reveal his feelings… just as those drugs had?

As Mulder returned to Scully's apartment, he thought about "those drugs" again and who he thought may be responsible. He would go see Dr. Foster in the morning, if she'd agree to meet with him on a Sunday. He'd go alone because he thought he might do better getting Foster to admit her feelings for Dr. Riley without Riley's current lady-friend hovering around in the background. Mulder genuinely liked Foster and hoped she was above such a juvenile attempt at sabotage, but he'd seen how she looked at Riley—and at Scully. Love was as good a motive as any.

Riley, on the other hand, was not as emotionally attached to Foster. That or he just played his cards a little closer to the vest. Either way, he'd been the one to set her up with Mulder. Perhaps his motivations were more about Scully. He'd caught on to Mulder's feelings for Scully and he'd slipped him a little something to find out if he was right. Then he gave Scully something that would make it easy to take advantage of her, not realizing she wouldn't stick around the lab while he pretended to run further tests on Mulder's blood. As nice as it would be to so easily eliminate the competition, Mulder's instincts told him Riley wasn't a particularly nefarious man. In fact, he was exactly the kind of guy Scully deserved. Damn him.

If it wasn't Foster or Riley, that left "outside forces," and Mulder couldn't help think of Cancer Man and his twisted sense of humor. Maybe this was just part of some game of his—to show them how vulnerable they really were. Or, worse, maybe he wanted to force them together. As things were, it was already easy enough for him to use the safety of one against the fear of the other. Just another reason to hide his feelings from Scully. He'd been so busy worrying about how her rejection would crush him completely that he'd never considered the potentially dangerous consequences of the opposite outcome.

But then, that possibility would almost be worth the risk.

When he got back to her apartment, Mulder found Scully sitting on her sofa, curled up and reading a book. It was enough to turn his "almost" into "definitely." Maybe.

"You heading out?" she asked without looking up from her book.

She'd read the same sentence about forty-seven times and couldn't have given a summary if her life depended on it, but she'd wanted to appear casual and nonchalant, so this is the pose she'd chosen. She hoped he didn't ask what she was reading (because she would definitely have to turn the book around to find out for herself).

"I guess I should be, right?" he asked. "Unless…"

"I'm fine," she told him.

"Of course, you are," he said through a smile, "but what about me?"

"What about you?"

"Do you think I'm okay?"

"I don't know, Just Mulder. It's kind of hard to determine."

Mulder chuckled and plopped down next to her on the couch. "It's up to you. If you want me to take off, I will. If you want me to stay… this couch can't be any less comfortable than mine. I don't know, though. Let me give her a try."

He kicked his shoes off and drew his legs up onto the sofa then he stretched out, pushing his legs behind Scully in the process. "Oh, yeah, this would be perfect."

"Mulder," she chastised and squirmed against his feet digging into her back. She finally gave up and got up. "Well, since you're already comfortable…"

"Thanks, Scully."

She rolled her eyes and exited the room without another word. Mulder hoped she'd found his little ploy to stay more "charming" than "pushy," but he really didn't care. He'd feel better if they got through the rest of the night without incident, but for now, he wanted to stay just in case anything else unusual happened to either of them. There was, of course, the strong part of him that wanted to protect her, but there was also the weaker part of him that always felt safer when she was around.

Trust no one. Except Scully.

"Sleep tight," he heard just before the lights went out and a gray chenille blanket flew at his face.


	23. Weekend Caller?

**Author's Note: **I know this is brief, but I'll be posting another chapter soon. Thanks to my beta reader IAmLoisLane. You are invaluable. And, of course, thank you all for reading.

* * *

By the time Scully woke up, Mulder was already heading out the door.

"I'm going to meet with Foster," Mulder explained.

"Give me ten minutes and I'll go with you," she told him, turning to go back to her bedroom to get dressed.

"I'm going alone," he said sternly.

She turned back and crossed her arms. "Mulder, that's ridiculous. You suspect her involvement in this, and you're going to meet her all by yourself? No. Absolutely not. I'm going with you."

"Scully, you need to take it easy today, okay? There's no reason—"

"If you want to be alone with her, just say so." She stopped herself from saying more because she knew how she sounded. Like some jealous girlfriend who didn't want her beau to be alone with another woman—only she wasn't his girlfriend, she was his partner, and all she wanted was to back him up… basically.

Mulder almost let himself hear the jealousy in her voice, but he dismissed it. Last night was nice. It was almost something. There had been so many almost somethings in their years together, but, in the end, they never amounted to much of anything. How could he think this would be any different? Still, he wanted to reaffirm his intentions, or lack thereof, toward Foster.

"I want to be alone with her," he said gently, taking the few steps to fill the gap between them. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But it's only because I feel that, if she is responsible for this, your presence may make it difficult for her to confess her motivations."

Scully stared at him for a moment. Now it all made sense to her. Mulder did know. He knew Meredith had feelings for Nathan. Scully realized that he'd been trying to avoid this discussion by sneaking out before she'd gotten up. He'd tried to deflect by telling her to stay home and relax.

Mulder felt bad even alluding to this information. He didn't want to hurt Scully or make her feel as though she would need to compete with Foster for Riley's attention—not that it would be much of a competition if Riley judged anything like he did.

Scully was touched by Mulder's thoughtfulness, but she really rather hoped Meredith _was_ in love with Nathan. She wouldn't mind if Nathan loved her back either. Scully was no fan of ending relationships. In fact, it had always been difficult for her to break up with men. She'd never felt she had the power to reject a guy because, more often than not, she'd never felt truly worthy of his affection in the first place. These weren't things she acknowledged openly, but they were there in the back of her mind, nonetheless.

"Okay. I'll stay here," she finally agreed.

Mulder nodded gratefully. He could tell she knew what he was getting at, but then, she usually did. "I won't be gone long."

The minute he _was_ gone, Scully found herself wishing for his return. She reprimanded herself for missing him so quickly. She knew she was already far too dependent on him in so many ways, but relying on him for her own personal happiness was unacceptable. This weekend was different than most of their time together, but that didn't mean anything had actually changed between them. They'd still spend their work time together, of course, but it would end there as it usually did. Scully tried to force away the disappointment inspired by that particular thought.

She tried to get her mind on something else. She busied herself with taking a shower and getting dressed. Today she picked casual wear: jeans and a light blue, long-sleeved v-neck. She blew her hair dry and did a minimal make-up job.

She considered throwing the sheets and comforter from her bed into the wash since Mulder had slept there the night before last, but decided against it for the very same reason. Instead, she made the bed and placed her now-folded gray chenille throw neatly across the foot.

She then stood before her bathroom vanity, looking at Mulder's toiletries mixed in with her own items on the counter. His toothbrush sat next to hers in the holder. He'd used her toothpaste and, evidently, he'd squeezed from the bottom and neatly capped it when done. His deodorant sat near his razor and aftershave. She considered opening the aftershave and taking a quick whiff, but she already knew what it smelled like and could imagine it without ever opening the bottle.

She couldn't help notice how perfectly his stuff was assimilated with her own belongings, especially when she removed everything of his, leaving the space only half-full now—but more like half-empty.

She finally gathered all his belongings and put them in his bag near the door. She knew he wouldn't stay again, there was no reason to. She couldn't even think of a viable excuse. And she knew she shouldn't try.

After he'd been gone for a few hours, there was a knock at Scully's door. She answered, expecting to find Mulder on the other side. Instead, she was greeted by a most unusual weekend caller.


	24. Sir?

**Author's Note:** Another short chapter, I know. But at least this actually advances the plot a little. That's something, right? Thanks to all of you for reading and to my beta reader IAmLoisLane. Also, like I always say when I post chapters close together... make sure you've read the previous one :)

* * *

"Agent Scully, may I come in?" Assistant Director Skinner asked from her threshold.

"Uh… yes. Yes, of course, Sir," a still-surprised Scully replied and stepped aside to let him in. She glanced out into the empty apartment corridor before closing the door.

Skinner lingered in the entryway and looked around, his eyes landing on Mulder's bag. "Going somewhere, Agent Scully?"

"No, Sir."

"Just coming back?"

"No, Sir."

"Then what's with the packed bag?"

"It's not my bag," she said as vaguely as possible.

"Have company, then?" Skinner asked, casually looking around the apartment for signs of another guest, but Scully got the impression he was toying with her—asking questions for which he already had answers.

Scully sighed and closed her eyes. She may as well come out with it. "It's Mulder's bag, Sir."

"I see. Is there something wrong with his apartment? Painting? Fumigation?"

"No, Sir, not that I'm aware of." Scully evaded. Yep. Skinner definitely knew more than he was saying.

"Then why the hell has he been at your apartment all weekend?"

So that's what he knew. "He's not here now."

"Agent, don't patronize me. "

"I'm sorry, Sir," Scully hedged and shifted her posture. "Why don't you come on in? Have a seat. I can explain."

"Sure, great, of course you can," Skinner said as he walked into her living room and sat down on the couch on which Mulder had slept the night before. "I hope you can also explain why the two of you have been seen in the company of two people—two persons of interest—under FBI surveillance."

"Sir?"

"Those doctors. Riley and Foster."

"You're saying they're under surveillance?" Scully took a seat on the side of the couch opposite Skinner. "Nathan Riley and Meredith Foster?"

Skinner nodded.

"And they're suspected of what, exactly?"

"Two people they've recently made contact with… are dead."

"They're doctors, Sir. Unfortunately, not every patient—"

"The deceased were not patients, Agent Scully."

"Then who were they?"

"Dustin Brinkman of Kansas City. Fifteen years old. Honor student. Boy Scout. Altar boy. Three days ago, he got a phone call from Fairfax Medical Facility—a call that originated from Meredith Foster's private office line."

"Why would she contact this boy? Was he ill?"

"He was in perfect health. As was thirty-seven-year-old Eleanor Woodcomb out of Ocala, Florida. She was contacted two days ago… just before she took her own life. She overdosed on prescription pain killers."

"Wait, what happened to the boy?"

"His father was a cop. He got ahold of his gun..."

"Another suicide?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Sir, are you actually suggesting—"

"Another woman from Barstow, California, Katrina Weiss… attempted suicide yesterday morning… just hours after receiving a call from Dr. Foster. Ms. Weiss is in stable condition at her local hospital, but is being kept under observation and heavy guard."

"Did you say _Katrina_ Weiss?"

"Yes. Twenty-eight years old. High school—"

"Chemistry teacher," Scully finished. "Oh my God."

"Yes. Do you have additional information about this victim?"

"No. Well, not exactly. A student of hers, a sixteen-year-old named Henry, is currently under the care of Dr. Riley and Dr. Foster."

"But you weren't aware of anything else I've told you today?"

"No, Sir."

"You two haven't been investigating the doctors?"

"No. Well… it didn't start out that way."

"Then how did it start out?" Skinner demanded.

Scully inhaled slowly then let out the breath.

"Come on. Out with it," Skinner ordered impatiently.

"Sir… I honestly don't feel comfortable-"

"_You _don't feel comfortable, Agent Scully? Would you like to know how _I_ came to be involved in this case?"

Scully didn't speak, but met eyes with the Assistant Director. She didn't know why, but she felt like a teenager who got caught necking with her boyfriend in a steamy-windowed car. Okay, she knew why. Until now, this had been a private matter, one she and Mulder could pursue on their own time. Suddenly, it seemed this was becoming official FBI business. Scully couldn't stand the thought that she might have to commit anything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours to paper—much less to an official report. Her stomach twisted in embarrassed knots just thinking about it. All she could do to invite Skinner to proceed was to raise an eyebrow.

"The surveillance team started on Friday evening where they caught you two exiting the hospital with the doctors. They recognized you and Mulder and called it in. Their superiors, knowing your reputation for investigating without official assignment, called in a second unit to tail the both of you, hoping, I guess, they could leech off anything you turned up. Turns out, it was a bust because neither of you left this apartment except for yesterday when _you_ spent a few hours out and then, this morning, when Mulder took off. And, both times, do you know where you and Mulder were eventually followed?"

"Fairfax Medical Facility."

"Exactly," he agreed, surprised by her admission. "Clearly, you were investigating very little. These agents couldn't figure out your involvement. Their superiors contacted me this morning to let me know, at the very least, my best two agents were shacked up here, in your apartment—"

"Sir, we were not—and have never been, I might add—shacked up," Scully insisted, though she wouldn't exactly be able to deny "shackled," if it came up.

"And, at the worst, that they were consorting with potential criminals—"

"You don't understand."

"Then, explain it to me, Agent Scully. How did you and Agent Mulder get mixed up with these quacks?"

"Actually… we were… dating them."


	25. Drugged Imagination?

**Author's Note: **Thanks for all the lovely reviews. Every time I get that little email notification, it's like watching the first and/or last scene of The Unnatural all over again (I know you know what I'm talking about-I so love that episode). Thanks, also, to IAmLoisLane for the beta-ing and the commentary. Both rock.

* * *

As Mulder drove out to Fairfax and got a little distance between he and Scully, he hoped he might also get a little perspective on the events of the weekend. Unfortunately, distance mattered little when every thought was still so close to her.

He couldn't remember a time when a woman had preoccupied his thoughts in this manner. Maybe he really hadn't ever been in love before… or maybe he just hadn't been in love like this. Maybe Scully really was his soul mate. But if that _were_ true, shouldn't Scully feel it, too? Shouldn't she be busy thinking of him instead of planning dates with good-looking guys like Dr. Riley?

Mulder knew he was the obsessive type, but he rarely thought in circles like this. He supposed it was because there was no logical progression here. There was no next step his mind could take. What he had with Scully was what he would always with have with Scully. Friendship, partnership… and nothing more.

He was glad to finally arrive at the Fairfax Medical Facility parking garage. Dr. Meredith Foster might not be the love of his life, but she would certainly be a suitable enough distraction. Or so he hoped.

When Mulder walked into the same lab Scully had visited the day before, he found Foster seated behind a computer.

"Agent Mulder, come on in," she greeted him cheerfully, but Mulder could tell her good-humor was partially put on. She looked tired and just a little annoyed.

Mulder grabbed a stool and took a seat next to her. "I didn't think about it until just now, but Scully and I never took any of her blood."

"It's okay. I won't be needing her blood."

Mulder tilted his head.

"I've got her coffee," she told him, holding up the coffee cup Scully drank from the day before. "And I also think I've got all this figured out."

Mulder was on the edge of his seat. "Great. Let me hear it."

"I'd rather you hear it from… someone else. Would that be all right?"

"Sure," Mulder said. If Foster already knew who did this, he'd play along. Even if it was her and this was all just a setup, he didn't see any harm in going along with it for the time being. He just hoped Riley wasn't this "someone else" she mentioned because he really wasn't in the mood for an encounter with Dr. Perfect.

Foster escorted Mulder out of the lab. The path she took him on led past the patient bay where the afflicted men lay just as they had on Friday night.

"Hey, hey, hang on a minute," Mulder slowed up and looked into the window. "Scully said you wanted to talk to me about… this. Something about soul mates?"

"As much as I'd love to get your expert opinion—and I will later, if you're still talking to me—my guest might lose his nerve if we wait any longer."

A perplexed Mulder followed Foster to a waiting room where he found himself face to face with what he had previously presumed to be a figment of his drugged imagination.


	26. Come Again?

**Author's Note: **Close chapter posting happening now. Please make sure you've read the previous chapter (unless you don't like it when Mulder pines for Scully, then you might just want to skip that one... oh, wait, if you're reading this, I'm assuming that does not apply to you). Thanks for reading and being patient with the short chapters. Thanks to my beta reader IAmLoisLane. And, of course, thanks for any reviews you feel like leaving. I think reviews are like tips for fic writers-but like a billion times more value :)

* * *

"Come again?" Skinner asked.

"Mulder and I were on a double date that night."

"You were on a date… at a hospital?" Skinner asked dubiously.

"We were originally at the hotel across the street." When Scully saw Skinner's eyes narrow, she quickly added, "At a fundraiser."

"So you're telling me you and Mulder were on a date at some kind doctor party?"

"Yes. But then Mulder… wasn't feeling well so… we left early."

"Agent Scully, you're aware that the Bureau isn't necessarily supportive of intra-office romance, correct?"

"I thought it was strictly prohibited."

"I've put my ass on the line more than a few times for the two of you—over things far more controversial than this… so I'm not saying I'm not willing to look the other way here, but the surveillance team—"

"Wait just a minute, Sir. You—and the surveillance team—realize Mulder and I weren't on a date with each other, right?"

"But you said—"

"My mother previously set me up with Nathan… then he and I arranged for Mulder and Meredith to—"

"Uh huh. I see. So why was Mulder over here all weekend?"

Scully stared at Skinner. Where the hell was Mulder? He always knew what to say to either ease the worries of his superiors or piss them off so badly they got off his case. Scully, on the other hand, always felt obliged to be honest. She glanced toward the front door, willing Mulder to return in the nick of time, but to no avail. Her last best hope was to just go at this like he would.

"I told you. He wasn't feeling well," Scully finally replied.

"And you were, what? Nursing him back to health?" Skinner asked with suggestive sarcasm.

"I'd prefer 'doctoring' him back to health," Scully said with a straight face, though she had to admit that Mulder's elusive approach to questioning was kind of fun.

"Why were you taking his clothes to be dry cleaned—"

"I was returning his rental tux, actually."

"Whatever. I'm asking _why_ you were doing this, Agent Scully."

"Because if the tuxedo wasn't back by Saturday at noon, Agent Mulder would incur a fifty dollar late charge."

"Uh huh." Skinner scoffed and Scully could see him grinding his teeth. "Why was he taking out your trash at three in the morning?"

"Because the bag was full."

"Agent Scully—"

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm not trying to be difficult," Scully lied.

"You could have fooled me."

Looking at Skinner's red and frustrated face, Scully felt bad. "It's just that… you're making it seem like Mulder and I have been attempting to conceal something regarding the FBI's investigation into Nathan and Meredith, and that's simply not true."

"Then it's just something personal you're trying to conceal," Skinner concluded.

"I can assure you," Scully told Skinner, "There is absolutely nothing like what you're thinking between Mulder and me. He's my partner. He may very well be my best friend, but I promise you it doesn't—and would never—go beyond that."

Skinner regarded her for a long moment before speaking. "I'd think you were lying if you didn't sound so damned disappointed."

"Excuse me?" She tried for indignant, but knew it was really just shock she felt. Was she _that_ obvious?

"Forget it. Get on with the story. You left the party because Mulder was feeling sick. Sick how?"

"Okay," Scully nodded. "I'll tell you this because I trust you, but you've got to promise that it doesn't go down in any official report."

"I can't guarantee—"

"Not in the official report and not outside this room."

Skinner scowled as he considered. Finally he smiled and shook his head as he chuckled to himself. "Okay. It's a deal. Now, spill."

Scully closed her eyes, pushing away the waves of discomfiture. If Skinner wanted the whole story, she'd give it to him… with a few properly placed redactions, of course.


	27. Fairy God Penguin?

**Author's Note: **This may be the last chapter of the weekend, but at least it's got a little length to it. Hope you enjoy it and reviews are always appreciated (and coveted). Thanks for reading and thanks to my beta IAmLoisLane. Oh, and I know I always say this, but make sure you've read the last few chapters :) I think this was three chapters in three days or something so... yeah, double check :)

* * *

"Agent Mulder, I presume. My name is Ansel Holmes."

The benefactor from the gala rose to his feet. Out of his tuxedo, he looked less like a geriatric penguin and more like the seemingly harmless old guy who drives around the neighbor offering kids candy with disreputable motivations.

"Have a seat. Please," Holmes said to them both.

Mulder looked to Foster with uncertainty. Just what the hell was going on here? Foster gave a weak smile and had a seat across from Holmes.

"Mr. Holmes has a little story to share with us today," Foster explained.

Mulder could see this was all a ruse. Foster already knew whatever "story" Holmes would tell, but Mulder could still see no reason not to play along. He took a seat next to Foster. "Do we get a juice box and some cookies with the story or… ?"

"I'm a romantic," Holmes began as he ignored Mulder. "This is a love story."

"Once upon a time," Mulder filled in then chuckled and turned to Foster. "What's with this guy?"

"He's got a flair for the dramatic, but go with it… this is a real doozy."

"Imagine, if you will," Holmes continued, "A man and a woman—"

"Now, this is my kind of story…"

"Work colleagues. Each secretly, but completely, in love with the other."

Mulder sat back in his chair now and pulled out a sunflower seed from his pocket. Maybe this actually was his kind of story.

"One is passionate and intense about the work while the other is logical to a fault."

Mulder glanced at Foster who sat gripping the arms of her chairs.

"But they complement each other, fill each other's gaps so perfectly that one without the other is simply half of something more."

"Soul mates," Mulder filled in.

"Exactly," Holmes agreed with a smile. "But without the courage—or maybe just without the knowledge—to do anything about it."

"So someone intervened," Mulder concluded.

"He's a smart one," Holmes told Foster.

"Just get on with it, Ansel," Foster told him back. "This is an incredibly uncomfortable situation for the both of us over here, in case you haven't noticed."

Ansel withheld the smile that still pulled at his lips and continued, "Imagine now a solution… a magical elixir that would give these two just what they need. The first gets the courage to speak the truth already so close to the surface. The other gets the freedom to feel things usually buried far too deep."

"A magical _elixir_?" Mulder asked with skepticism of which even Scully would be proud. "You're talking what? Love potion number nine?"

"Something like that," Holmes chuckled.

"So who's the voodoo fairy godmother who makes this happen?"

"You're looking at him," Foster said, eying Holmes with amused annoyance.

"My wings and wand are at the cleaners," Holmes joked.

Mulder was a fan of the slow reveal, and he couldn't say this story didn't amuse him on some level, but this was getting ridiculous. "Look, can you two just tell me whatever it is you're trying to tell me because I've got to get back—"

"I'm the one responsible for what you and Ms. Scully experienced, Mr. Mulder."

"I got that. But why?"

"Dr. Foster?" Holmes invited.

"Ansel, don't do this to me," Foster said through clenched teeth.

Mulder looked at Foster and was surprised to find her face flushed with embarrassment.

"Okay, so the penguin cupid over there," Mulder said, catching Foster's eye, "He somehow got the idea that Scully and I… "

Holmes laughed at that and Mulder glared at him, "You know, you're admitting responsibility for drugging two federal agents so you might want to curb the chuckles there."

"I'm sorry, but I've just never met so many people in denial. It's shockingly amusing to me," Holmes defended himself.

"What the hell is he talking about?" Mulder directed his question at Foster.

"He means to imply," Foster said then hesitated a moment before finishing, "that your feelings for Agent Scully are somewhat like my own feelings for Nathan."

Mulder was glad Scully hadn't come for a whole different reason now. "My feelings for Scully? My feelings for Scully are purely professional."

"If I said the same thing about Nathan, what would you say?"

Mulder put his hand to his temple. He knew the answer to her question, but he wasn't about to admit it.

"It was Sodium Pentothal, Mulder. Or some kind of derivative. In your champagne."

"In _your_ champagne," Mulder corrected her then processed what she'd said. Sodium Pentothal? That actually made perfect sense.

"Originally Nathan's champagne," Holmes interjected.

"Sodium Pentothal? You're saying Glen the Good Warlock slipped me... truth serum?" Mulder asked.

Foster nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Intended for Dr. Riley?"

"So it would seem," Foster answered, glancing at Holmes.

"And Scully?" Mulder asked. "It wasn't the same thing—"

"Do you have low self-esteem or are you just naturally pessimistic?" Holmes wanted to know.

Foster cut in before Mulder could answer, "It was MDMA."

Mulder's breath caught. "Ecstasy?"

"It was in the coffee Ansel brought me yesterday."

"Coffee that Scully somehow ended up with when she was here?"

Foster nodded again. Mulder stared at her with a troubled expression. "Doesn't E have bad side effects?"

"It was pretty well diluted," Foster assured him. "She should be fine. As should you, by the way."

"I have to know… how'd it work out?" Ansel asked.

"Are you kidding me?" Mulder demanded, suddenly feeling enraged. "How'd it work out? You sick son of a bitch…"

Mulder got up and made a move on Holmes. Foster shot up between them.

"Settle down, you," she instructed Mulder.

"I'm not going to settle down. I'm gonna deck this guy. On behalf of Scully… and myself… and you and Dr. Riley."

"Careful, Mr. Mulder, I used to box at Harvard." Holmes stood up and "put 'em up."

"Oh, relax, Ansel. Sit down," Foster said and pointed at the chair. "You too, Agent Mulder. Please."

Mulder took a deep breath and finally plopped down into a chair, putting his head in his hands. "What am I supposed to tell Scully?"

Foster placed a hand on his shoulder. "Tell her whatever you need to tell her. I'll corroborate it. Say you were both on ecstasy. Say it was some kind of pheromone potion—"

Mulder's laugh cut her off. "We better go with the ecstasy."

"Why don't you just go with the truth?" Holmes suggested, but said no more when both Mulder and Foster glared at him.

"You know, usually, I have to actually do a little investigating to solve a case," Mulder mentioned. "I don't typically get some crazy old rich guy telling me of his evil—albeit well-intentioned—plans. It's like it's almost too easy. Even Scooby and the gang have to work a little harder than this."

"I guess maybe I cracked the case," Foster said. "Ansel called me last night, asking way too many personal questions. I already knew about the Sodium Pentothal, but I wanted to tell you myself—without involving Nathan or Scully… for obvious reasons."

"Yeah, thanks for that."

"Then when I spoke to you this morning about Agent Scully's behavior… something just told me to check the coffee."

"You know what's funny? I was sort of hoping it had something to do with the whole soul mate angle… something to do with your patients. I knew it was impossible—totally unrelated, but…"

"Doesn't mean she's not your soul mate… or that you can't love her," Foster told him gently.

Mulder looked down at his hands. "Same with you and Dr. Riley."

"Precisely," Holmes threw in.

"You know, you could have just given your advice instead of hatching this elaborate plan," Mulder told him. "I mean, it's actually incredibly ridiculous… and clever… mostly for the simplicity and straightforwardness of it all."

"Yes, well, to be honest, I wasn't doing it for the theatrics. I was doing it because two people I care about are in love with each other—"

"Look, Ansel, you got it out of me, okay? I care for Nathan, but he doesn't feel the same. In fact, he's seeing someone."

"Ms. Scully. I know," Holmes informed her.

"So can you promise me you'll drop this?" Foster asked him.

"Only if you promise to be open to a possibility that you feel is so extreme."

"But—"

"You do it every day in your work. You _both _do," Holmes said giving a glance at a quiet Mulder. "So why not take the leap here?"

Mulder and Foster glanced at one another. Mulder could see his own sentiment mirrored in Foster's eyes. Why not take the leap? The cliff was high and so were the stakes. There was no safety net and no turning back. It was safe where they were, and that's right where they both intended to stay, much to the chagrin of their Fairy God Penguin.


	28. You too?

**Author's Note: **You know, I always feel like the X-Files works best when Mulder and Scully are together. Not, like, "together" together, but just with each other... near each other... you know, together. So... a chapter were Scully and Mulder are back together. With Skinner. But that's neither here nor there. I'm sorry, I'm a little loopy. I'm in between tutoring and "open house," and I thought I'd take a few minutes to post up this chapter. Thanks to you guys for reading, and thanks to my beta reader IAmLoisLane whose insight and suggestions are so useful :)

* * *

When Mulder pulled up to Scully's building, he was deep in thought. How could he have shared his inner most feelings with two strangers? He hadn't meant to, he just didn't think to deny it at the time… at least not with any fervor or believability.

And then there was the matter of what he'd discovered—or, more accurately, what he'd been told. As an explanation, it was so simple… yet became so impossibly complicated when put into the context of what to tell Scully. One thing was clear: he was going to have to lie… at least a little. Maybe a lot. Probably a lot.

Mulder was wrapped up in these thoughts as he walked right past Skinner's car and up the stairs to Scully's place. He knocked on the door and waited with no idea how to answer the questions he knew she would have for him. Only she didn't open the door, Skinner did.

"Sir?"

"Come on in, Agent Mulder. Agent Scully's making some coffee."

Mulder stepped into Scully's apartment. Not only was it odd to find Skinner at Scully's place on the weekend, but the fact that he wasn't surprised to see Mulder was a bit worrisome.

"What'd you find out?" Skinner asked him.

"Sir?" Mulder asked, glancing toward the kitchen.

"From the doctor. Dr. Foster, wasn't it?"

"What exactly did Scully tell you?" Mulder asked.

"She told me everything," Skinner claimed.

Mulder smiled as Scully exited the kitchen with two cups of coffee. "Scully told you everything, huh?"

Scully gave him half a head shake—maybe a quarter—as she handed Skinner his coffee. She offered the other cup to Mulder and met his eyes. Though he made no sign of it other than the eye contact, she knew he got her message: she most certainly had not told Skinner "everything."

"Oh, no thanks," he said, waving off the coffee.

"You sure?" Scully asked him.

"Yep."

Scully took a sip herself just as Mulder said, "Don't know if I could even hold the cup, my wrists are so sore."

Mulder watched Scully choke on her coffee. She glared at him, but he smiled and nodded to Skinner who was busy drinking his own coffee obliviously.

"So, Agent Mulder, let's hear it," Skinner said before taking another long swig.

"Yeah, I'll fill you in, but I think I changed my mind about the coffee," Mulder said as he edged toward the kitchen, "Scully, you want to lead me to the cream and sugar?"

"Sure," Scully said as she followed behind him and tried to avoid Skinner's suspicious glare.

When they were alone, Mulder turned to Scully and moved in so close she could smell the enticing scent of his aftershave. He kept his eyes on the door and whispered, "What the hell is Skinner doing here?"

Scully stayed close to speak while trying to ignore the now familiar attraction and the feelings that were still so new to her. "It's been awkward, to say the least. He showed up here accusing us of conspiring with Nathan and Meredith—"

"Conspiring to what—"

"Getting there," she interrupted him. "Then he wanted to know why you were here all weekend—"

"How did he know—"

"Getting there, too," she stopped him again. "Meredith, or someone in her office, made contact with several people over the past few days. Out of three, two committed suicide and the other, a chemistry teacher named Katrina—"

"Wait, Katrina? Wasn't that the name of Henry's—"

"Yes. She attempted to kill herself."

"You're kidding? Were the others related to the other patients in some way?"

"That's yet to be determined. But Meredith and Nathan have been under surveillance since Friday night."

"Friday night?"

Scully nodded.

"They put us under surveillance, as well," Mulder deduced.

Scully nodded again, glancing over her shoulder and out the kitchen door.

"_How_ under surveillance?" he asked.

"Evidently, just visual… watching our comings and goings, which—as Skinner observed—amounted mostly to a whole lot of stayings."

Mulder closed his eyes and sighed. "He gave you a hard time?"

"Not really. He just wanted to know what was going on and why you were here. I tried to be evasive, like you would have been—"

"I'm not evasive. Unless… is that a good thing?"

"It's certainly useful. And you're good at it. Much better than I am. The whole conversation was uncomfortable. It was hard enough talking about it with you—"

"I hate to hear you say that," he said honestly as he took a step back from her. "I'd like to think we could talk to each other about anything."

Scully turned away to pour a cup of coffee for Mulder. "We could. We can. It's just… " She turned back to face him with a smile. "Please just let me be embarrassed… okay?"

Mulder also hated her humiliation. He thought about breaking down right there and spilling the contents of his highly edgy yet fully certain heart… but then he remembered all the reasons why it was a terrible idea—his fear of losing her at the top of the list. "Okay."

Scully breathed an inner sigh of relief as she handed Mulder his coffee. She'd already told Skinner the basics—the very basics—and she really didn't want to think about the past forty-eight hours again until she was alone and could be reflective, rather than deflective.

"So, what did you find out from Meredith?"

"Uh, well…"

"Agents, how long does it take to make a cup of coffee?" Skinner asked as he entered the kitchen, looking at them both impatiently.

"Can I speak with you alone for a moment, Sir?" Mulder asked Skinner.

Skinner glanced at Scully who shrugged and offered to take his empty cup. Mulder handed off his own cup as he led Skinner out of the room. Scully stared at the empty doorway for a moment as she wondered what Mulder could possibly have in mind to tell Skinner. Whatever it was, she trusted it to be in her best interest.

In the living room, Mulder sat down next to Skinner on the couch.

"What is it, Agent Mulder?" Skinner demanded impatiently. "I mean, I'm assuming Agent Scully has already brought you up to speed."

"Sir, did you ever stop to think that by coming here like this you're sort of overstepping your bounds?"

Skinner laughed. "_I'm_ overstepping _my_ bounds?"

"I know what you're probably thinking," Mulder lowered his voice, "about Scully and me."

Skinner said, "Look, to be honest, I don't give a rat's ass if you and Agent Scully decide to do the nasty down in the damned FBI basement—"

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Mulder said with a chuckle. "But, seriously, Sir, I can assure you, there's nothing like that between Scully and me. She doesn't go for guys like me. You should see this doctor. He's the kind of guy Scully deserves."

"Jesus Christ… you, too?" Skinner muttered.

"Sir?"

"Scully and I have already had this conversation, Agent Mulder."

"Okay, I know, but I also wanted to assure you that what happened this weekend is personal and is also completely unrelated to those suicides you're here about."

"You're telling me that my two best agents getting drugged by the subjects of an FBI investigation is somehow not related to the investigation—"

"They weren't the ones who did the drugging. They were the targets."

"Okay, that's better for them, but still related—"

"The guy who did it—"

"You know who did it? Are you bringing him in?"

"No, Sir. He's just this harmless old man who funds medical research. He's given a lot of money to Riley and Foster. He also seems to have a vested interest in… well, essentially, he thinks he's cupid and he was trying to do a little match-making. Scully and I got caught in the cross-fire of his magic arrows."

"You're saying he was trying to… what are you saying?"

Mulder glanced over his shoulder and also listened. The water was still running in the kitchen sink. "I'm saying this guy wants Riley and Foster to, you know," Mulder lowered his voice even more, "be together. He was trying to drug _them_, not us."

Skinner also looked toward the kitchen and spoke quietly, "And you don't want Agent Scully to know this information?"

Mulder shook his head.

"May I ask why?" Skinner questioned with a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"I warned you that this was personal."

"Well, in that case, proceed or don't, and know that I'm willing to listen, but I'm certainly no Sally Jesse Raphael."

Mulder smiled at his boss. He was really fond of Skinner, he had to admit. He wanted to confide in him, and Skinner had opened the door, but he also knew talking too much about Scully would make him feel like a dope, like a blushing teenage school girl talking about her crush. He decided to take a chance and give Skinner the generic version of his concerns.

"It's just… You may not know this, but it's been awhile since Scully's been on a date, and she really seems to like this guy. I'd hate to see her sabotage the whole thing because she starts to read into this crazy man's theory about Foster and Riley."

"Well, is it true?" Skinner asked. "About Foster and Riley? Because, if it is, you might just be saving Agent Scully some time."

"I can't say. The only person Riley seems to have eyes for is…"

"Scully?" Skinner asked.

Mulder nodded.

"Okay, well, I'm willing to keep this information to myself unless it becomes pertinent to the case," Skinner promised.

"Speaking of the case, I'd like to request permission to take over the investigation."

Skinner groaned. "I don't know, Mulder. It's a conflict of interest, wouldn't you say?"

Mulder grinned. "Sir… so is my whole career."

Skinner narrowed his eyes and tilted his head from side to side. "I see your point."

"So?"

"I'll have to go through the proper channels, but… let me see what I can do," said Skinner exasperatedly.

"I'd appreciate it."

"Appreciate what?" Scully asked as she re-entered her living room.

"Assistant Director Skinner's going to get us on this case… since it's clearly an X-file."

"Isn't it a bit of a conflict of interest?" Scully asked.

Skinner glanced over at Mulder smugly and gave him a nod of agreement.

"Come on, you two, it's called undercover work," Mulder assured them. "No pun intended."


	29. Personal Relationship?

**Author's Note:** I have to admit that I wrote the very best part of this scene on a scrap of computer paper while my students were taking a mandatory computerized test... but don't worry, I was able to walk around, monitor them AND write. I'm a great multi-tasker. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for her excellent beta advice. Thanks to all of you who continue to read. And, you know, don't be afraid to tell me you're still reading... and if you're still liking what you read. You know, so I don't think you're... not. Like Mulder and Scully. Neither of them ever say anything... so each assumes he/she is the only one who loves the other. You get what I'm saying, right? Next time, should I just go with "please review?" :)

* * *

Mulder and Scully sat together on Scully's couch. Mulder propped his feet up on his own overnight bag as he enjoyed the proximity with which Scully currently—and always—sat. He'd previously thought it was he who kept close to her, but when she sat on the couch cushion adjacent to his instead of the next one down, Mulder realized for the first time that maybe it went both ways. He wished more things could. For the moment, though, the feel of her knee pressed into his thigh as she sat facing him with one leg drawn up underneath her was enough.

As for Scully, all she knew was that she had never been more in Mulder's orbit. Since Skinner had left them alone, Mulder had been vaguely explaining the details he'd learned from Meredith, but Scully had been distracted by… all things Mulder. Her mind went uncomfortably to Padgett, the crazy writer who had told Scully he was taken with her… and suddenly she knew the feeling.

Mulder had spent the fifteen minutes since Skinner left filling Scully in on the details of their drugging. He had explained that Ansel Holmes had been the culprit and strategically implicated that Meredith was his only target. He'd been keeping track, though, and, thus far, his only lies had been by omission or under the guise of ambiguous humor. He hoped to keep it that way.

"Really? MDMA?" Scully asked, interested, but not nearly as angry as she knew she'd normally be. She forced herself out of the celestial plane and back down into realm of reality. She absolutely had to focus… and she did. Ecstasy made perfect sense. The pills would be easy to crush and slip into any drink, and her behavior certainly coincided with several on the long list of typical subjective effects of the drug. Mulder's behavior, on the other hand, seemed to vary slightly, but maybe he just tripped on drugs like he did everything else in life—outside the norm.

"Yup." Mulder nodded and tapped his hands on his thighs. "Can you believe some people take that stuff recreationally?"

"It was in the champagne you had at the party?"

Damn her direct questions. "So it would seem," answered Mulder in the least confirmative language he could find.

"And in the coffee I drank at the lab?"

"That's right," Mulder verified.

"Hmm… I might not have made coffee earlier had I known," Scully joked.

"Kinda why I wasn't in the mood," Mulder agreed.

Scully thought of something. "But it wasn't on the original toxicology report?"

"You're _asking_ me?"

"I guess I'm asking myself. I saw the initial report and the negative results for whatever substances the test detects… and they were _all_ negative results."

"Well… was ecstasy on the list?" Mulder asked, already intuiting her answer based on her confused rather than accusatory tone.

"I don't see why it wouldn't have been, but… seeing as how I'm _not_ blessed with photographic memory—"

"Cursed, you mean," interrupted Mulder with a mischievous smile.

"Whatever," Scully said, her annoyance downplayed entirely by a smile of her own. "Either way, I honestly can't recall what was and wasn't included in the report, but I'm sure we can get a copy from—"

Mulder sat up slightly and pulled a printout from his back pocket.

"Your pocket, evidently," Scully finished.

Mulder shrugged and handed over the report along with the analysis of Scully's coffee. Both had been doctored by Meredith, of course, to fit the cover story Mulder was trying to present.

Leave it to Mulder to withhold evidence until the last possible moment. Scully looked over Mulder's toxicology results and saw that MDMA was, indeed, not included on the preliminary testing, but showed up in secondary results. She also found it on the analysis of the coffee she'd consumed.

"Okay, so we know the what, but… why?" Scully questioned. What interest could this Ansel Holmes character have in drugging Meredith? It was very odd. Much more "X-Files" than Mulder was spinning it, which was odd in and of itself.

"Maybe he thought he could get Dr. Foster in the sack."

Scully thought about it for a moment. She supposed love—or lust—was as good of a motive as any. And Meredith and Nathan had alluded to this man's affection for Meredith the day before. "So… the drug was in _her_ champagne… that you ended up drinking? And in _her_ coffee… that I ended up drinking?"

Mulder nodded. "Terrible coincidence, right?"

Scully laughed. "I didn't know you believed in coincidences, Mulder."

Mulder shrugged, "I just want to move past this and get to the real X-File here, Scully. I mean, yeah, this guy is nuts, but Foster can handle him—and, ultimately, other than a little mutual embarrassment, we're okay. No harm, no foul."

Scully was relieved to know that their embarrassment was "mutual," but she couldn't understand why Mulder was willing to give Holmes a free pass on his completely illegal actions. She wasn't sure she was. Ecstasy had some pretty serious side effects, and she knew Mulder was smart enough to realize that. There had to be more to the story.

"Those patients are sick—with no explanation and no apparent hope of getting well," Mulder went on. "And now there are these related, but unexplained, suicides? Who better than us to intervene and maybe save some lives?"

"I understand why you think this is an X-File—"

"You don't agr—"

"And, while I may agree," she gave him a smile, "I'm not sure I'm comfortable exploiting a personal relationship for an FBI investigation," Scully finished.

"Scully, have you ever known me to exploit a personal relationship for the FBI?"

"Mulder, in the six years we've worked together at the FBI, I'm not sure I've ever known you to _have_ a personal relationship _to_ exploit."

"Says my best friend… and self-proclaimed soul mate," Mulder said light-heartedly, though her words stung a little harder than he wanted to admit.

"Hey, I thought we'd established that I was under the influence of psychoactive drugs when I said that," Scully complained, though she knew if there were any scientific proof that a person could have a soul mate, she could think of no one better than Mulder to fill in her cracks, as he'd put it. "And I meant a _pertinent _personal relationship to exploit."

"Mmm hmm." He wasn't buying it, but he was flattered that she cared enough about his feelings to go with a partial retraction of the not-so-nice comment. In reality, though, he _didn't_ have many personal relationships. He maybe only had just the one… but it was the only one he really cared to have. "Anyway, we're not going to be exploiting your relationship with Dr. Riley, okay? I know you like the guy."

Before Scully even had time to feel guilty—much less figure out what she felt guilty about—Mulder continued, "We're going to tell both doctors about the investigation."

"We are?" questioned Scully with extra emphasis on the "are," as if her inquiry was more of an unbelievable conclusion than a question.

"I don't think they're guilty of anything beyond trying to cure their patients. There's something else at work here, and we're going to find out what," Mulder vowed.

"So you won't exploit a personal relationship for FBI business, but you're perfectly willing to manipulate an official FBI investigation to fit your personal pursuit of the truth about… what is it this week? Soul mates?" Scully asked, glad she was finally slipping back into her skeptical groove.

Mulder smiled and shrugged, chagrinned. What he didn't tell her was that he was already painfully aware of the truth about soul mates… as it related to his own (and only) personal relationship, anyway.


	30. YOU can't believe?

**Author's Note:** Thanks to my beta reader IAmLoisLane... this chapter needed lots of beta love. Also, thanks to all of you who take time to read. I hope this chapter meets your needs and expectations. If so, let me know. If not, the suggestion box is always open :)

* * *

Mulder and Scully waited on the call from Skinner, they felt certain it would come eventually. They both knew that if Skinner had any influence over the case at all, Mulder would be able get his way. Besides, there was no way anyone at the Bureau would look at their position within this investigation as anything but advantageous.

They sat at Scully's kitchen table, forming a plan together, which was a different experience for both of them. Typically, Mulder somehow found the cases and kept Scully in the dark until the last possible moment.

He had his reasons for doing it that way. It wasn't because he didn't trust her; he'd had faith in Scully from the moment he'd met her. It wasn't because he didn't respect her; he admired her more than any other work colleague he'd ever had. It wasn't because he needed to be in control; he would be more than happy to hand the reins over to her were she ever to make such an uncharacteristic demand. It wasn't even because he enjoyed the game they played at the start of each case… though he did derive a certain pleasure in the verbal swordplay that transpired between them each time he pitted his clue-hoarding against her fact-compiling. But the real reason he dropped details like bread crumbs from a loaf he kept for himself was simply because he felt Scully worked best on a proverbial empty stomach.

He was a big picture, top-down kind of guy. He had to see it all at once—usually literally spread out in front of him—before he could connect the dots. Scully, on the other hand, was detail-oriented and processed better from the bottom up. She could plot the points one by one, drawing the connections as she went, then step back to see the big picture. Granted, her final picture was rarely similar to the one Mulder imagined, but that was just another benefit.

As Mulder gave out information, Scully questioned it, cracking holes in his theories left and right, forcing him to either amend or completely refigure. She probably had no idea how often her logic and strict rationalism helped him perfectly tweak the conclusion he pretended to hold all along.

Her logic, her scientific approach, was not only useful and impressive… it was also damn sexy… mainly because of the playful arguments it created between them on a regular basis. Mulder believed, whole-heartedly, that banter with Scully was better than sex with any other woman. At least, it turned him on…

"Earth to Mulder?"

"Huh?" Mulder said, turning his eyes back to hers.

He'd been lost in thought, a million miles away. Where his mental vacation took him, she had no idea, but it must have been good—unless Scully was imagining the hint of red on his cheeks. It annoyed her slightly that he was tuning her out so early into this joint-planning session. So often, he held the map, and he'd drop her directions as he saw fit, leaving her feeling perpetually… lost. She chased after him, trying to keep up, while he knew exactly where he was going every step of the way. Granted, he was sometimes headed directly for a steep cliff or a seemingly impassable river… but even then, he usually just jumped or swam or whatever was required to keep up his never-ceasing forward momentum. All in all, it was exhausting.

On the other hand, there was something magnetic about his confidence and certainty. It drew her in and kept her always in hot pursuit. Also, and she hated to admit it, but there was something deeply appealing about their disagreements. While she never had a problem defending her position if someone challenged her, there wasn't a single person on the planet she hoped would pick a fight with her. Except Mulder. Talk about unresolved sexual tension. The daily collision of his self-righteous assertions and her fact-based contentions was better than even the best foreplay she'd ever experienced. At least, it was good for her…

"Well?" Mulder questioned her in the same reverie-breaking tone she'd used with him.

"Sorry?" she asked, a bit lost as patches of fire engulfed her entire face.

"Earth to Scully," he mimicked then reconsidered, "Hm, well, maybe more like '_Mars_ to Scully' in my case, right?"

"So you're finally admitting it? You actually are on another planet sometimes?"

"Sometimes?"

Scully shook her head, but couldn't help the smile that came to her lips.

"Seriously, though," Mulder said, trying to refocus his thoughts toward anything but how utterly adorable Scully was. "What are you thinking? About the case?"

She took a deep breath and tried to recall what she'd wanted to ask him. "Oh… well… I was just wondering… Do you think they'll let us interview Katrina Weiss so soon after an attempt to take her own life?"

"A medical doctor and a psychologist? We're a shoe-in."

"So should we talk to Meredith and Nathan before or after we interview Katrina?" Scully asked.

"What do you think?

"I think… we're usually on the plane before I even know anything beyond the vaguest details of a case," Scully jibed then added even more sarcastically, "I guess I'm having trouble handling so much information at once."

"Well, I can, uh… draw you a picture if you want," he joked. "But, for the record, I think you're brilliant with just the 'vaguest details,' Scully. Maybe you're even better."

"Mulder, if you're implying that you purposefully don't tell me things because you somehow think the challenge makes me a better investigator… so help me—"

"Scully, I can't believe you would even imply—"

"_You_ can't believe?"

"She asked skeptically."

They stared at one another in a playful mock standoff. Scully broke first, though she tried to hide her smile with a hand across her face.

"So," Mulder finally ventured, "Do we speak with almost suicide victim Katrina Weiss before or after our doctor dates?"

"First of all, you can't be a victim of suicide."

"Of course, you can," Mulder argued.

"It's self-inflicted."

"You're saying fashion victims don't dress themselves?"

"Fashion victims just follow bad advice or trends. They're still victims of outside forces," Scully informed him.

"My point, exactly," said Mulder. "Outside forces."

Scully rolled her eyes and decided to ignore his implications entirely. "I suppose we should probably speak with Ms. Weiss first… see if she can remember who called her. That way we'll know Meredith or Nathan's involvement—

"Or non-involvement."

"Before we bring them in on the investigation."

"And what do you make of her connection to Henry?" Mulder asked.

"Well, naturally, my first inclination is that it's simply a coincidence."

"Naturally."

"But then, considering the calls and the other potential patient correlations, there has to be some connection. The altar boy, for example—"

"You're thinking he's probably in Father O'Shea's congregation, right?"

"That would be my theory, yes," she told him.

"Wait… you… you have a theory this early in the game? I think my knees just got a little weak, Scully—"

"You're sitting down, Mulder."

"Good thing," he teased.

"Anyway," Scully pressed on, "once we get Nathan and Meredith on board, we can get the patient files and verify our hunch—"

"We're sharing hunches now?"

"About the dead boy and Father O'Shea then we can find out which patient—"

"If any," Mulder interrupted in a tone reminiscent of classic Scully.

"Right. We can find out which patient, if any, is connected to the final suicide."

"The third suicide," Mulder said as if it were a correction.

"That's what I said," Scully replied.

"No, you said 'final,' and if we don't hear from Skinner soon… I'm pretty sure no one's yet to see the 'final' anything with this case."

Scully looked at him, suddenly sobering to the truly serious nature of this situation. People were at risk, and though it was fun to sit around with Mulder and flirtatiously hypothesize, she needed to focus her full attention on closing the case before anyone else got hurt—or hurt themselves. If only Skinner would call.

"Maybe you should give Skinner a call and see if he's gotten anywhere."

Mulder nodded and was just about to get up when… the phone rang.


	31. Little Gray Men?

**Author's Note:** I swear, eventually they'll get down to the actual _I_ in the FBI :) For now, they're just getting some dinner. I know. This story moves glacially, but I hope it works for you guys. Thanks to my beta-reader IAmLoisLane for her always great suggestions. Thanks to all of you for continuing to read... and welcome to those of you just catching up on the story.

* * *

As soon as Skinner called and told them the case had been officially reassigned to the X-Files, Mulder and Scully set their plans into motion. Mulder went home to change the clothes he'd had on since Saturday and to replenish his overnight bag. Scully booked the plane tickets and made the rental car reservation then got her own belongings together.

Scully also decided to change into a more work-appropriate outfit since they planned to go straight from the airport to the hospital in order to interview Katrina Weiss. After staring into her closet for far too long, she finally decided on her newest black pantsuit with a white camisole underneath so she wouldn't get too warm on what would inevitably be a stuffy flight out to Barstow, California. She ran a brush through her hair and touched up her makeup… because, after all, it was very important to look as beautiful as possible for a work trip with a work colleague whose personal interest she had absolutely no desire to capture. Right. Still, she couldn't help staring into the mirror for a few minutes more than she normally would.

She looked good, better than normal. Not that she thought she normally looked bad. She didn't have particularly low self-esteem regarding her looks, nor was she especially vain. Scully knew her strengths and weaknesses, and she knew how to build up or downplay, respectively. In fact—despite the other night when he'd admirably fought off her ridiculous advances—she was fairly sure that if she really wanted Mulder, it was well within the powers of her more subtly executed feminine wiles to have him. At least, this was the case in one way, the simplest and most immediately gratifying way. But as appealing as that thought was to her—and it was incredibly appealing—it wasn't his touch she longed for most. What she wanted from Mulder was his full attention, his time, his respect… his love. Those were things she didn't know how to get. Those were things she felt she shouldn't even be seeking.

She met her own eyes in the mirror and wondered if insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results… what was considering different facts only to reach the same conclusion? Unhealthy obsession? Denial? Good old-fashioned stupidity? Even worse, she didn't plan to stop.

She watched her reflection roll its eyes at her then headed to the airport to meet her partner.

When Mulder arrived at his own apartment, he showered, shaved and replenished his overnight bag all in less than fifteen minutes. Still with a towel around his waist, he dumped some food into his fish tank and headed for his closet. Though the flight would be a long one, the time difference would give them plenty of time to speak to Katrina Weiss that night _if_ they went straight to the hospital when they arrived in Barstow. Traveling in a suit wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but such was the life of a G-man.

He grabbed his belongings and rushed out of the apartment. Being in a hurry did well to keep his mind occupied, but as soon as he got in the car and realized he was a good thirty minutes ahead of the schedule he and Scully had agreed on, his mind drifted back to its favorite waters.

He wondered if he'd be able to convince Scully to hit some of the famous hotspots in the small town of Barstow. The Skyline Drive-In was probably out, but maybe she'd go for Barstow Station where the restaurants were in re-purposed rail cars. He thought Scully would pretend to be appalled by such a thing, but secretly enjoy it.

He finally started his car and headed for the sandwich shop he and Scully usually visited on their way to or from Dulles. He always ordered a Ruben with extra dressing. She'd gone from turkey on wheat to this tofu and soybean wrap with sprouts and wheat germ and other disgusting, un-American things. It was a kick she was on these days… though she certainly hadn't complained about his pancakes.

Mulder chuckled as he pulled into a parking spot. Scully definitely had a well-maintained façade made of four very sturdy walls. Sometimes, for him, the walls were more like windows, and he could look right in and figure her out. Other times, though, she was in a bunker. He stood helplessly on the outside, unable to make heads or tails or her thoughts, motivations or emotions. Strangely inconsistent for such a successful F.B.I. profiler… Fortunately when it came to her sandwich order, he was a regular telepath, and he hoped she would be impressed when he met her at the gate with her wrap in hand.

Inside the sandwich shop, Scully had already ordered her own California wrap and Mulder's grossly greasy Ruben. In fact, no sooner had the kid making the sandwiches handed her the order that she saw Mulder walk in the door. They always stopped at this place so it wasn't a big surprise to see him there… it was just a pleasant one.

"Scully?"

"Do I know you?" Scully joked.

"Yeah, guy you had handcuffed to your bed a few nights back? How could you forget?"

The kid behind the counter snickered. Scully shot him a look, but turned her fiery eyes to Mulder. "Let's go."

She grabbed the sleeve of his suit jacket and dragged him outside, but when she turned to him and shoved the bag of food into his arms, he saw the amusement in her eyes just before she rolled them.

"One second," she told him and jogged off toward the cab she had waiting in the parking lot. She paid the guy and got her own belongings out of the trunk then headed for Mulder's car. "Come on. We've got a plane to catch."

Mulder drove to the airport where he left his car in long-term parking. They talked very little through check-in and security, going through the motions of an act they both knew a little too well. When they arrived at their gate, they still had a few minutes before boarding—enough time to eat their dinner.

"You know," Mulder told her, taking a bite of his sandwich, "I was going to surprise you with this exact dinner, but you beat me to the punch."

"Great minds think alike, I guess," she said as she spread a napkin across her lap then carefully unwrapped her meal.

"Actually, great minds think differently. That's what makes them great."

"I guess that makes us a pair of dummies," she said before getting in her first bite.

Mulder laughed. "Speak for yourself, Scully."

She smiled. "So I'm the dummy… while you're the one eating a heart attack on rye."

"When I die, at least I'll know I lived a little."

"A little. Exactly."

"When it happens… when I head for the big basement in the sky—"

"That's contrary."

"Whether it's the greasy grub… or at the hand of the cigarette-smoking man—"

"Mulder—"

"Or death by little gray men—"

"Hey—"

"Promise me that when I'm gone, you'll always keep an open mind… and that you'll feed my fish," he finished as he flashed her an impish grin… then he saw her face and frowned. "What?"

"Just… don't… don't joke about that, okay?" She tossed her half-eaten wrap back into the paper bag from the shop. Suddenly, she wasn't hungry.

"Which part? The sandwich part or the alien part or—"

"Mainly, the you dying part. I wouldn't just be losing my partner, I'd be losing my best friend and, frankly, the thought isn't something I'd like to entertain."

The concern with which she spoke the words touched Mulder deeply, as did her declaration of best friendship. Obviously, he knew Scully would prefer if he didn't die, but the look on her face—the fear, the sadness, the distress—was unbearable to see. This was one of those rare times when her walls were even more than windows—they were down to him completely.

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, wondering how much of herself she was giving away with such a blatant display of anxiety over even this hypothetical loss. She couldn't take it back, even if she'd wanted to… which she didn't. On whatever level he took it, he should know that losing him would irreparably break her heart.

"As someone who's almost lost his partner—and best friend—on more than one occasion," Mulder explained, "I completely understand… and I'm sorry for bringing it up."

She smiled. It was weak, but genuine, and for that, Mulder was grateful. Before either of them could say any more, one of the women at the gate announced that their flight was "now boarding."

"Come on," Mulder gently quoted her own rushed words from the sandwich shop, "We've got a plane to catch."


	32. Cuddlers?

**Author's Note: **I know it's got to be super-redundant for people who read this whole story at once, but I feel like I need to again say thank you to all you wonderful readers and to my beta reader IAmLoisLane. This story would not be where it is without you all. Thank you!

* * *

On the plane, Mulder and Scully found their seats on row thirteen.

"Lucky thirteen," Mulder commented.

"I thought thirteen was unlucky," Scully replied.

"Depends on who you ask."

"Mmm."

Scully got out the medical journals on which she was months behind while Mulder dug out his sunflower seeds and a pack of gum. He took off his coat, rolled up his shirt sleeves and loosened his tie then stowed his carryon bag in the overhead bin.

"You want me to put your stuff up?" he asked Scully.

"Thank you," she said, handing off her bag. Mulder was nothing if not chivalrous, and though she was all for feminism, she found his modern gallantry entirely endearing.

"It's burning up. You want to take off your jacket?" he asked her as he nodded toward her own suit coat.

"I'm fine," she lied. As she expected, the plane was uncomfortably warm.

As she took the seat next to the window, Mulder noticed her cheeks were flushed and there were beads of sweat on her brow. She couldn't possibly be "fine." Maybe she was just banking on the plane cooling down once they were up in the air. "You sure? I can get it back out for you if you get cold later."

She groaned as if he were twisting her arm, but looked relieved when she took off the coat and handed it to him. In just her white tank top, Mulder found her incredibly… sexy. He smiled to himself as he placed her jacket in the compartment above his head. Scully could be frumpy if she wanted to be, as if she were trying to downplay her naturally good looks, but he wondered if she had any clue how pretty, how inadvertently beautiful, she really was. Case in point.

Mulder secured the latch and was about to take his seat next to Scully, the middle seat, when the flight attendant approached him. "Excuse me, sir? I wanted to let you know the third seat in this row is free you so your wife can feel free to stretch out a bit."

"Oh, thanks anyway, but we're cuddlers," Mulder quipped. "Right, dear?"

Scully scowled at him, but didn't reply otherwise as the flight attendant smiled awkwardly then made her way back toward the front of the plane. Mulder plopped down in the aisle seat, leaving the middle seat between Scully and himself free.

"Cuddlers, Mulder? Really?"

He only shrugged in response and opened his pack of gum, offering Scully a piece. She waved it off and looked out the window for a long moment. Cuddlers? Really? _Really_? Maybe he was the cuddly, snuggly, touchy-feely type, but she certainly wasn't… even sure of when she last had the opportunity to find out if she still enjoyed such things.

For the first few hours in the air, Mulder quietly alternated between chewing gum and munching on sunflower seeds. With her glasses perched on her nose, Scully engrossed herself in reading, finding most interesting an article about psychosomatic conditioning in patients with allergies. The test subjects were given individual allergy profiles then exposed to allergens. In a control group, ninety-eight percent of subjects reacted to allergens to which they were allergic. In the test group, eighty-six percent of the subjects experienced reactions to the substances to which their profiles _claimed_ they were allergic, but to which they had no allergy.

It was "mind over matter" at its worst, in Scully's opinion, and she wondered if anyone had studied whether or not psychosomatic conditioning could also work to cure a patient. Or… what would happen if you told someone they had, say, telekinetic abilities? Just how far could a person's mind take him?

Scully smiled slightly, knowing these were exactly the questions Mulder would ask. She wasn't really as skeptical and closed-off to the possibilities as he imagined—she just wasn't willing to accept anything without at least the _possibility_ of reason, logic or science to back it up.

"So I've been thinking about the case," Mulder said, though he'd really been thinking much more about Scully… and cuddling, but those thoughts led to others and he actually had begun to form some coherent opinions on the matter. "You know, from the soul mate angle."

"Okay," Scully offered cautiously as she closed her medical journal.

"I'm pretty sure these men are sick because their soul mates were unattainable to them in some way. The Father and his altar boy. The student and his teacher. Neither of those are exactly socially-accepted relationships… no matter how badly both parties wanted to be involved."

"Mulder, are you actually suggesting that someone can get physically sick from… unrequited love?"

"Psychosomatic illnesses aren't unheard of," countered Mulder, glancing down at the closed volume on her lap.

She rolled her eyes and put the stack of journals into the seat-back pocket. "No, but they typically have a physical basis or are brought on when the patient expects them to occur. I don't see either requirement fulfilled here," Scully pointed out.

"What about somatoform disorders?" Mulder asked her.

"Disorders in which mental factors are the sole cause of the illness?" Scully asked. How Mulder came up with this stuff was beyond her. Was there anything with which he wasn't at least a little familiar?

Mulder nodded. "Maybe these guys' mental instability over being denied the one person they each wanted most caused the outbreak of illness."

"The same outbreak in each patient?"

"Why not?" Mulder asked.

"Well, because if not being with your soul mate causes this one specific illness… wouldn't a lot more of us be sick?"

"It's not a matter of 'not being with your soul mate.' It's a matter of finding your soul mate only to realize you can't be with them. I mean, realistically, how many of us even find our soul mate in the first place? And most of those who do probably find a way to be together. These are the rare exceptions. These are the guys who couldn't get the girls—"

"Or altar boys," Scully interjected.

"Or altar boys," Mulder agreed with half a smile.

"Anyway, it's a great theory, but what about the women?"

"Or the altar boy." Mulder tried to throw her joke back at her.

"Or the altar boy. Why did they not develop the same physical symptoms?"

"I don't know," Mulder admitted.

"And how do the phone calls tie in?"

"I don't know that either." Mulder shrugged.

Maybe Mulder didn't know everything.

"Okay, I'll give you that psychosomatic and somatoform disorders are not off the table," Scully agreed, "but I don't believe the same symptoms developed in these patients without some common link. Psychosomatic conditioning is very much like the power of suggestion. It occurs when someone plants the seed in the patient's head. If that's the case here, it's that someone we're searching for."

"Why are you so certain it has to be a someone?" Mulder wanted to know.

"And why are you so sure it's not?"


	33. Ms Weiss?

**Author's Note:** Happy early Easter. Not as good as chocolate bunnies, but ya know, deliverable via the internet. Be sure you've read the previous title (the one entitled 'cuddlers?' because wouldn't you be sad to miss that?), and I hope you enjoy this one. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for her beta-smarts. Thanks to those who read. Special thanks to those who take a moment to review. That little notification to my email inbox is better than a Cadbury egg (and you should understand that I really love Cadbury eggs).

* * *

The airplane landed at LA-Ontario Airport right on time, and it wasn't long before Scully and Mulder arrived at the unimpressive Barstow Community Hospital. The "psychiatric ward" at the facility was little more than a single room at the end of a short hallway of patient rooms. The only thing that distinguished this room from the others was a deadbolt lock on the outside of the door and the posted security guard Mulder had requested for Katrina Weiss.

"She should just be coming out of sedation," the pretty, thirty-something Nurse Richards explained to the agents as she led them down the hallway. "Can you unlock the door, Artie?"

The security guard gave the nurse a kindly familiar smile and complied. He stepped aside to let Mulder and Scully enter the room.

"If you need anything, let Artie know and he'll get me, okay?" Nurse Richards instructed.

"Sure, thanks," Mulder agreed and placed his hand on the small of Scully's back as he led her into the dark hospital room.

They stepped in, disoriented by the darkness until Scully found and flicked the light switch. The room was flooded with a dull blue fluorescence. Katrina Weiss was already awake, her wrists bandaged in heavy white gauze and loosely bound to the bed with thick brown leather restraints. Her legs were free and she had them curled up to her chin with her long chestnut-colored hair hanging down her back, shoulders and into her face. She stared out the window, tears streaming out of her big blue eyes and down her face.

Scully thought, though she looked wild, this woman was incredibly beautiful. She couldn't be more than twenty-five and was probably the object of many of her students' hidden affections.

"Ms. Weiss?" Scully asked softly.

The woman said nothing. Instead, she sniffled and blinked so that water in her flooded eyes poured down her cheeks. She moved her head from side to side to wipe the tears on her hospital-gown-covered knee.

"Ms. Weiss," Mulder said walking further into the room, "we know this is a difficult time for you, but we just need a few answers… do you think you can help us?"

Katrina turned to him then looked over at Scully and asked, "Are you a couple?"

"Just a couple of FBI agents," Mulder answered for her. "I'm Fox Mulder. This is my partner Dana Scully."

Scully was surprised to see the woman smile.

"But if you wanted you could be together, right?" Katrina again directed her question to Scully.

"The FBI strictly prohibits romantic relationships between its partnered agents," Mulder stated as if reading from a bylaw.

"Is that true?" the woman asked Scully.

"Um… well…" Scully hedged, "according to our Assistant Director… it's at least heavily frowned upon."

Mulder raised his eyebrows at Scully, but she wasn't looking his way. "Frowned upon" was a long way from "strictly prohibited." Not that it mattered much to him either way. If Scully ever decided she wanted to be with him, well… FBI and its rules be damned. Mulder glanced at Katrina who was studying him carefully.

She chuckled, wiping the rest of her tears away on her gown. "In other words, you could be together… if that's what you both wanted."

"I suppose so," Scully finally admitted reluctantly, not looking at Mulder. "If that's what we both wanted."

"But, technically, Ms. Weiss, if you _wanted_ to be with Henry, you could have been as well." Mulder pointed out. "You could have kept it a secret."

Katrina laughed bitterly. "I know you don't know me, but I'm just not that type of person. I'm a professional. I would never… I mean, you see those stories on television all the time, don't you? The teacher who sleeps with her student… and you wonder what's wrong with her."

"Did you sleep with Henry?" Mulder asked.

"Of course not. I never even… I've hardly even touched him."

"Hardly?" questioned Scully. She wasn't exactly as gung-ho as Mulder in regard to encouraging this grown woman to pursue a relationship with a sixteen-year-old boy.

"It was just… in passing. When I returned a graded paper to him... or when we walked by each other in a crowded hallway. Our fingers would touch… our arms would brush against one another's. It was so simple, but so charged. We both felt it, but we both ignored it. We _had_ to ignore it."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," Mulder suggested tritely.

Katrina scoffed. "Isn't that just the sort of thing pedophiles say to justify their sickness?"

"Is this why you did what you did, Ms. Weiss?" Scully asked mildly.

Katrina glanced down at her bandaged, bound wrists and sighed. "I knew the minute he walked into my classroom that he was different… special. When he got sick… when they took him away… it affected me profoundly. I can't express to you the pain of a true broken heart. I wasn't myself—I'm not myself. I'm a scientist… yet here I am… babbling about broken hearts. "

"We're glad to hear whatever you have to say that may help us to understand what's going on here," Scully offered.

"For example, "Mulder followed up, "Who called you last night?"

Katrina's chin trembled. "Who called me last night?" she repeated.

"Was it a doctor?" Scully asked.

"A doctor? No. No, of course not."

"Well, then?" Mulder politely demanded. "Who?"

Katrina swallowed, fresh tears streaking her cheeks. She sighed and looked out the window again before she finally admitted, "It was Henry."

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look. Mulder already knew the words before Scully spoke them:

"That's impossible."

"That's what I used to think about falling for a student."

"No, you don't understand," Scully explained, "Henry couldn't possibly use a phone."

"He called me at home. I don't even know how he knew my number. He said he was in a hospital. He said he'd been drugged and forced to sleep, but that even the drugs couldn't keep away the nightmares of not being with me. He asked me to come to him, to save him… to save us both."

"Was it then that you decided to take your own life?" Mulder asked carefully.

"I decided," Katrina replied, looking Mulder directly in the eye, "that it was both impossible for me to be with him… and impossible for me to be without him. Therefore, I deduced, it was simply impossible for me… to be."

Scully felt terrible for this woman, and when she looked at Mulder, he seemed to share her sentiment. He raised his eyebrows, asking silently if there was anything else Scully wanted to ask. She shook her head; she'd had enough. Mulder nodded once and placed his card on the table by Katrina's bed.

"Thank you so much for your time, Ms. Weiss. If you think of anything else, please give us a call.

"Have you also spoken to Henry… or will you?"

Mulder again questioned Scully without saying a word. She nodded. She'd take this one.

"If his doctors allow it," Scully responded.

"Will you tell him…" Katrina began, but finally shook her head. "I don't know what to tell him."

"How about the promise that you'll keep yourself safe," Mulder suggested.

Katrina nodded. "Yeah… I will. You can tell him that."

"Good," Mulder nodded and smiled at the woman. "We'll _all_ be holding you to that."

Scully was amazed to see Katrina offer them a genuine and promising smile. Mulder sometimes offended people with his direct questioning and low tolerance for deflection, but other times he had the great ability to foster encouragement and pull out hope where it otherwise seemed lost.

"You handled that really well," Scully told Mulder when they were back in the hospital lobby.

Mulder shrugged, but smiled. Neither of them was particularly good at giving or receiving compliments, usually resorting to something back-handed or sarcastic. This time, Scully had been honest and direct, so Mulder went for something like that in his reply. "Thank you."

As they walked to the hospital parking lot, they chatted about what they had learned from Katrina Weiss.

"What do you make of it being Henry who called her?"

"Well, I don't believe it, that's for sure."

"Why not?"

"Because he was heavily sedated, Mulder."

"Which didn't stop him from screaming his head off the other night."

"Screaming and physically getting out of bed are two very different things," she argued.

"Okay. So maybe he didn't get out of bed at all."

"Are you implying Henry somehow _psychically_ phoned Katrina Weiss?"

"Actually, I was just thinking maybe someone brought him a cordless phone, but now that you mention it, a psychic phone call is a much better way to… reach out and touch someone."

Just as they finally reached their rental car, Scully's cell phone rang. She met Mulder's amused look. "Better get that, Scully. Might be your soul mate calling."

"It's Agent Swanson in electronic surveillance," Scully said, reading it from her caller ID.

"Like I said," Mulder teased, "soul mate."

Scully glared, but there was good humor behind it. She finally took the call, answering with her typical, "Scully?"

Agent Swanson had been put in charge of monitoring all phone calls made from Fairfax Medical Facility. He began by telling her he and his team had been listening to boring well-wishers and just slightly-more-exciting employee personal calls, when one came through that got everyone's attention. A man named Chuck was calling a girl named Sarah Burton. They'd met in a grocery store in New York City. They'd never spoken or seen each other since, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. She never asked how he found her. She only asked where he was and said she would be there as soon as she could. She would come by bus. When they checked the call's origin, they found it had been placed from the phone in Nathan's office. They checked against the patient list and found a Charles Carmichael of New York currently under the care of Nathan and Meredith.

Scully thanked the agent for the information and looked up to meet Mulder's impatient stare.

"Well?" he asked.

"We need to get back to D.C."

Thirty minutes later, Mulder and Scully walked through the airport, hauling their luggage and debating their next step.

"Mulder, we need to get back to D.C.—to Fairfax—before Sarah Burton does."

"We're going to Florida, Scully."

"Fine, you go to Florida. I'll go back to D.C.," Scully said defiantly, irritated with the way Mulder seemed to be making decisions for the pair of them. He was back to his typical form, and truth be told, she was just plain angry about it.

Mulder couldn't explain why, but he didn't want to split up. He thought—he _felt_—he and Scully should be together on this. In fact, he'd fight her a little more, but if she insisted, he would go back to D.C. with her. His gut was pointing to Florida, but something deeper wanted him to stick with Scully no matter where she went.

"We can get another team of agents to intercept Sarah Burton," he suggested. "Tell them to pull her driver's license for a description then watch the bus station. It's not that complicated."

"Likewise, another team could interview Eleanor Woodcomb's family in Ocala, Florida. And why are you prioritizing her over Casey Martin anyway?"

"Because, Scully, Casey Martin of Kansas City was an altar boy in Father O'Shea's congregation. It's predictable from all angles. It's Henry and Ms. Weiss all over again—"

"Except the boy is the one dead this time," interrupted Scully.

"Right. There's no one to talk to there. According to the file, the kid was a bit of a loner. His dad, the cop… you think he's going to tell us his boy was in love with their favorite priest? Give me a break. No point interviewing someone bound to be in denial."

"You're making assumptions that may or may not be true."

"Fine, Scully," Mulder said in frustration. If she couldn't see this his way, he'd pull the same bluff she did and hope for the best. "You go to Kansas City. I'll go to Ocala. We can rendezvous in D.C. tomorrow."

Scully was about to agree, but she changed her mind. Splitting up was wrong. She couldn't put her finger on just why, which seemed peculiar. Usually, she made very calculated decisions… ones that she could defend well... with things like facts… and reasons. This time, though, she was going only with her gut. It felt strange, but right.

They'd reached the ticket counter, and so Scully was not able to share her revelation—not that she would have shared it.

"What's the nearest airport to Ocala, Florida?"

"Hmm. I'd go with Orlando," the ticket attendant told him.

"Okay," Mulder nodded. This was his last chance to get Scully to change her mind. He hoped she wouldn't call his bluff. "One for Orlando and one for Kansas City—"

"Two for Orlando," Scully corrected.

Mulder looked at her with a lopsided smile. Thank God. "You sure?"

She nodded. "Completely."

There was something in her voice that Mulder couldn't quite place. It was like some deep loyalty—a strong dedication—he had never heard before. As the ticket attendant typed the order into her computer, Mulder leaned close to Scully's ear, his nose touching her hair, and whispered, "Thank you."

"Just don't tell the flight attendant we're 'cuddlers' this time, and we can call it even."

The girl behind the ticket counter looked up at that, smiling pleasantly as she handed over the tickets. Mulder flashed her a grateful smile and led Scully away from the counter and toward the gate.

"I gotcha, I gotcha. Less talk, more action."

Scully rolled her eyes, but said nothing. After all, less talk and more action might suit her just fine.


	34. Pillow?

**Author's Note:** Just in case the Easter bunny didn't make it to your house, I thought I'd stop in with a little delivery. It's no Cadbury egg... but it's almost as gooey. I do just want to preface this by saying this chapter contains events that, as a reader, I would consider trite, contrived and just plain silly. That's the rational side of me. The fangirl 'shipper side of me would secretly love them. Thanks to my beta reader IAmLoisLane for being on the right side of that inner-conflict of mine... or else this chapter may have worked out very differently. And, also, thanks for catching those same old typos... without you, "Mudler" would be the one cuddling up to Scully-oh no, oops... spoiler alert. Ahem. Finally, thank you readers and reviewers. You're the best.

* * *

Scully and Mulder had about an hour before they could board their red eye flight back to the east coast. During that time, they put in a few phone calls. Mulder got Agent Swanson back on the line and jotted down the patient list he'd referenced earlier when talking to Scully. Meanwhile, Scully got ahold of Skinner and set up the bus station surveillance needed to bring in Sarah Burton before she could make it to Fairfax.

Mulder also suggested Scully call the altar boy's father just in case he was more willing to talk than he'd imagined, but when she got the man on the phone, he wouldn't discuss any details and hung up when Scully asked if his son had left any sort of suicide note.

"Good idea to ask about the suicide note, Scully."

She narrowed her eyes.

"What?" he asked, though he already knew she was simply wondering why he wasn't gloating.

"No 'I told you so,' Mulder?"

"Honestly, Scully, I'm just glad you're going with me. Something about the thought of us splitting up on this one… it gave me… bad vibes."

"Bad vibes?" Scully faked both the question and the skepticism behind it because she knew exactly what he meant… only she couldn't explain it. Maybe he could.

"I can't explain it," Mulder admitted. He thought maybe it was because they'd spent so much time together these past few days that he simply didn't want to be away from her, but it was so much more than that.

By the time they got on the plane, Scully was seriously regretting not where they were going, but that they were going anywhere at all. She was exhausted and this plane ride would be her only chance to sleep. To make matters worse, this flight was so crowded there were no free seats anywhere, much less between her and Mulder. In fact, their assigned positions were the middle and window seats of the very last row, where the chairs did not recline and traffic to the restroom would be a constant disturbance.

Mulder stowed their belongings and jackets then slipped into the window seat (after Scully insisted he take it). Scully sat down in the middle so the very large man standing in the aisle could take the final seat in the row. He pulled down the armrest between him and Scully and claimed it for himself. Neither Scully nor Mulder had lowered the armrest between them, and neither made a move to do so.

As far as Scully was concerned, the lack of armrest meant she could scoot an extra three inches away from the heavy-set stranger… and three inches closer to Mulder.

Next to her, Mulder was thinking… pretty much the same thing.

An hour into the flight, Mulder had not even made an attempt at sleep. He stared out the window into the dark night sky and wondered what the hell was going on with this case. He really hoped he was right on the soul mate angle. If not, the men in Fairfax were responsible for these deaths; their phone calls somehow triggered the suicides. If that were true, Sarah Burton was in serious danger… particularly if she made it to the hospital to see Chuck Carmichael.

Chuck Carmichael. Mulder looked over the patient list and recalled the conversation he and Scully had with Riley and Foster. Three of the patients were married, but only one wanted his wife. That was Devon Woodcomb. His wife was the now-dead Eleanor Woodcomb of Ocala, Florida. One married man spoke of his high school sweetheart and the other was interested in a co-worker. Those had to be Beau Ford of New Orleans and Jay Mason Vancouver, but with the information he had, he didn't know which was which. Father O'Shea was the priest whose favorite altar boy, Casey Martin, shot himself. Henry Ahren's high school chemistry teacher, Katrina Weiss, unsuccessfully slit her wrists. Which left Chuck Carmichael. Mulder thought back. Riley had said Chuck was a plumber who was obsessed with a woman he met at the grocery store. Bingo.

From what Scully had relayed to Mulder, it sounded as if Chuck Carmichael and Sarah Burton had only met—or had maybe just seen each other—one time. At a grocery store in New York City. Without exchanging information, how was it even possible that Chuck found her? Was it some cosmic connection that caused him to instinctively know how to reach her? Or was he a stalker who had followed her home and used nefarious means to obtain her phone number? Why was she so willing to go to him now? Had she also instantly felt their connection? Had she thought about him every day just as Katrina Weiss couldn't keep Henry off her mind? Had she been hoping—or even waiting—to run into him once again in the crowded city? With nothing holding her back, had she felt free to go to him, to be with him? In a way, it was incredibly romantic. But how? _How_ did they know?

Even more puzzling were the Woodcombs of Ocala, Florida. Evidently, Devon Woodcomb was _married_ to his soul mate. That was enough to bust Mulder's current theory into a million pieces. That was also why he and Scully were going to interview whomever they could find to shed a little light on this one little odd duck.

Another thing that troubled Mulder about this whole hypothesis of his was something far more personal. If people really could get physically ill just by being near their soul mates without actually _being _with them… what did that say about he and Scully? Was there no chance at all that they were 'meant to be,' from this standpoint? Perhaps the fate of a man was different than the fate of his soul? After all, the man only stuck around one lifetime, while the soul was eternally recycled.

Or maybe Mulder was just a moron, a lovesick fool who only thought he'd made some deep connection with another. Or worse, maybe he was just a man seeking earthly pleasures. That thought killed him. Would it be that easy for him to confuse love and lust? He didn't think so, but he knew he was really no different than any other person on the planet—he saw what he wanted to see.

As did Scully. Unfortunately, she didn't see him. He knew that short perspective would always be the roadblock between him. Mulder saw Scully as a friend, a lover… a soul mate. She saw him as a partner… maybe as a friend. But nothing more. Never anything more.

Except maybe a pillow.

Mulder glanced over, realizing for the first time that Scully had snuggled up next to him. With no arm rest between them, it was more than her head on his shoulder, though that had happened too. She'd turned sideways with her arms on either side of his. It wasn't exactly a hug, but it was certainly a loose grip she had on his arm. Her legs were crossed and one was pressed into his. More satisfying than any of the contact—and it was all very satisfying—was the slight smile she wore as she slept.

Mulder watched her sleep for several minutes before he got brave… or thoughtful, as he liked to think of it. Scully looked relatively comfortable, but she was still essentially sitting straight up. Like this, her neck would get stiff, her arms would get numb, and she would feel like crap when she woke up. To help her recline a little more, Mulder carefully tugged his arm free from her grip. She didn't stir as he wrapped the arm around her back to pull her head down gently to his chest. The arms she had on either side of his now went behind his back and across his chest. Mulder kept his own arm around her as he leaned back into the crook created by his seat and the plane wall. Scully turned her head from one side to the other, but her breathing stayed slow and steady.

Mulder knew he should stop there; it was already too much. But her hair had fallen across her face and was dangerously close to her mouth. With a single finger, Mulder pushed the strands back behind Scully's ear. He then traced his finger down her neck, across her shoulder and along her arm until he reached her bent elbow where he stopped and let his hand rest. Maybe he would be able to sleep on this flight after all. He would, at the very least, need to fake it until Scully woke up. If she found out he orchestrated this little cuddle-fest... he was a dead man flying.

Mulder suddenly became aware of a pair of curious eyes on Scully and him. He glanced up to find the big man in the aisle seat watching with a smile.

"Wish my wife still liked to cuddle," the man whispered.

"She's not—" Mulder stopped himself. What was he going to say? That she was not his wife or girlfriend. That she was his work colleague… because this was a completely appropriate position for work colleagues. "She's not much of a cuddler… until she falls asleep."

The man chuckled softly and nodded like he understood then turned back to the novel he had opened on his tray table.

Mulder glanced back down at Scully, who was oblivious to the conversation and the rest of the waking world. He closed his eyes and let his cheek lay against the top of her head. He didn't care that his theory implied he and Scully couldn't be soul mates. He was in love with this woman. And if the Woodcombs of Ocala, Florida were any indication, his theory was flawed anyway.


	35. Nathan?

**Author's Note: **With days off, I've posted several chapters close together so please make sure you've read everything thing that came before this post-cuddle chapter :) Nothing new in the case, but a nice little Mulder revelation so... enjoy. Thanks to my beta reader IAmLoisLane. Your commentary is the greatest. And, readers, THANK YOU.

* * *

In each other's arms, Mulder and Scully slept peacefully for the remaining six hours to Orlando. In fact, they also slept through the drop of the landing gear and the entire decent. It wasn't until the plane touched down that they stirred… slowly.

Scully's eyes fluttered open first. She smelled Mulder, felt his warmth. Still groggy, she tilted her chin up and rested it on his chest. She smiled… then she realized.

Mulder woke up a second before her realization. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, meeting her bleary gaze. Had they ever been this intimately close? Did she want to be… closer? For the briefest moment, he knew the answer, and it surprised him.

Then reality crashed violently down on them both.

Scully's smile turned to a look of horror and she pushed herself away from Mulder. She leaned against the back of her own seat as if hoping to dissolve into it. She didn't know how she could have been so careless… so stupid. Without looking at Mulder, Scully opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. After a moment and several attempts, she put her lips back together in a frown.

Mulder stretched and chuckled. "Well… it was good for _me_."

Scully scoffed as she pulled on the armrest, sending it crashing down between them. She needed space, but the man in the aisle seat had slept through the landing and continued to snore loudly next to her. This thin plastic barrier would have to do.

"Sorry… about… that," she mumbled. She didn't look at him, but gestured toward him with an open palm, indicating her earlier position. She then folded her arms and wished she had on her jacket… or anything more than the stupid, skimpy tank top.

Scully's embarrassment cancelled out what would have been Mulder's own mortification at being caught embracing his partner. She obviously didn't see it that way at all. She didn't know that he had selfishly orchestrated the whole experience. She felt like the wrong-doer. To correct her was to make a confession he couldn't… so he took the simpler way out: more innuendo.

"I knew you were a closet cuddler," Mulder whispered as he slid his elbow across the arm rest and dug it into her upper arm.

"Mulder…"

"Oh, come on, Scully, relax. It's not like I'm going to tell Nathan."

"Who?" she asked earnestly.

Mulder laughed. "Nathan? Dr. Nathan? Your hunky-perfect-boyfriend Nathan?"

Scully closed her eyes. God. She hadn't actually thought about Nathan since before they'd gotten on the plane in D.C., but that was no excuse to forget him at this particular moment. What the hell was she thinking? What the hell was she doing?

"Guess it _was_ good for you too."

"He's… he's not my boyfriend," was all Scully managed to offer as a counter.

Mulder already knew (and loved) that he could make her blush on cue, but this was something different. This was a super power he didn't know he possessed: the ability to wholly unnerve Agent Dana Scully… to the point that she forgot her boyfriend—or, _not_ her boyfriend. It was a distinction brought up at an interesting juncture. She was telling him simultaneously that she didn't mean to get so inappropriately close to him… and that she didn't have a boyfriend. Talk about mixed messages. Except, for Mulder, the signal suddenly became crystal clear.

She liked him.

Or, she could like him… if she let her guard down. Because when her guard was down, she saw him. Not just as a partner or a friend… but as someone who could make her forget all about the perfect, handsome doctors in her life. It was probably the most exciting piece of intelligence Mulder had ever gathered because it meant… he had a shot.

Scully sat with her hands on her lap, wishing the airplane would hurry up and taxi to the terminal so they could get off the plane and get to work…. but mainly get off the plane. She'd had a few embarrassing moments involving Mulder over the years, but this took the whole damn humiliation cake. Even more unsettling was just how perfectly right that one second in Mulder's arms felt… before she realized. That one second was enough to make her believe in the idea of soul mates. For that one second, he _was_ her soul mate. Now, though, she was just the butt of his jokes, and from the look on his face, the one she caught in her peripheral vision, he had another comment ready to hurl at her.

"I tell ya, Scully, I haven't slept that well in awhile," Mulder said, rubbing his hand along his stubbly chin.

Scully looked over at him, suspicion arching her eyebrow. That was his big line? There were a million jokes about sleeping together that he could have used, but instead he went with something that actually sounded like sincerity? Was the lack of a joke actually the joke… or was there something she was missing?

"Really, I mean it," Mulder asserted with a genuine smile.

Scully was shocked to find that she believed him—though it was more the timing than the factuality that perplexed her. She knew very well how good the sleep she shared with Mulder had been… how restful… how soothing… how safe. Even Scully, who rarely had trouble sleeping, hadn't slept _that_ well in awhile. But she would never admit that to Mulder… yet there he was putting it out there. She didn't get it, didn't get him. Not that she wanted more sarcast-a-Mulder reinforcing how much he didn't and couldn't want her… but at least it was a clear message. Now, all of a sudden, the picture was cloudy.

That was what Mulder, the enthusiastic baseball fan, liked to call… a change-up.


	36. Happy Place?

**Author's Note: **So I know I usually post a chapter over the weekend, but I was out of town. This one was almost ready before I left, but it needed a little beta love from IAmLoisLane and some TLC from me before it was ready to go. Thanks for the inquiries-makes me thankful that you guys are not only still there reading, but actually looking forward to the next chapter. I'm super-flattered :) So, without further adieu... wait, or is that "ado." Anyway...

* * *

The hour-long drive from Orlando to Ocala was relatively quiet. Scully read the map and gave Mulder an occasional direction. Mulder broke open sunflower seeds with his teeth, discarding the shells out the slightly cracked car window.

"This is the exit coming up," Scully instructed.

Mulder nodded and merged right.

"Any predictions?" Mulder wondered.

"Hm?"

"About what we're going to find here. Do you have any predictions?"

"In line with your theory or with reality?"

Mulder smiled, glad she was finally warming back up to him… in her own way.

"Let's go with reality first," Mulder said.

"Okay. I think we're going to find people in mourning. I also think Eleanor Woodcomb's family was less than supportive of her marriage or else she would have been in Fairfax while her husband was sick."

"Unless their marriage was on the rocks," Mulder pointed out.

"Good point. One that leads us to a very obvious flaw in your theory."

"Yeah, I was wondering when you'd find out about that."

Scully chuckled. "That's really why you wanted to come here, isn't it? To find out how this man could get sick if he was already married to his soul mate?"

"Maybe." He smiled as he watched the road. "Or… maybe I thought you'd like to visit the happiest place on earth."

"Mulder, my bathtub isn't in Florida."

"I was talking about Disney World, Scully."

Scully shrugged and glanced down at the map, "You need to take the next left."

Mulder turned the car and waited a moment before asking, "Your bathtub, huh? Happiest place on earth?"

"Definitely."

"Been there. Done that," he said playfully. "Well, does a shower count?"

"_Me_ in my bathtub."

"Okay… haven't been _there_," he admitted, but then grinned mischievously and added, "yet."

"The _solitude_ of soaking in a long, hot bath," she explained pointedly. "It's like the rest of the world just fades away—all my everyday nagging concerns. And, finally, I'm alone and relaxed and… happy."

"So… this happiness is impossible to experience unless I somehow become you."

"Because it's _my_ happy place. It's perfectly soothing… to me."

"And it smells good."

Scully glared at him, gauging his seriousness.

"What? I told you… I've been there," Mulder said innocently.

Scully was done being embarrassed by Mulder and his suggestive comments. If he wanted to make a joke out of everything, so be it. It was a better option than him knowing how she really felt, knowing that just the thought of him in her bathtub was a "happy place" all of its own and that she wasn't nearly as opposed to his company in such a situation as she let on.

"Turn right," Scully told him. "So, what's _your_ happy place, Mulder?"

Mulder smiled. Time for a little earnestness again. "_This_ is my happy place."

"Florida?" Scully asked. "Or did you mean Ocala specifically?"

"I meant _this_...specifically." He gestured around the car.

"Rental cars?" she asked, though she now had an idea of what he really meant.

"No, Scully. _This_. You… me… scouting out the fantastic in ordinary places all around this beautiful country of ours. Airports, rental cars, crappy motels, bad food…"

"Wash, rinse, repeat," she said listlessly.

"But it's not really, though. The routine's the same, sure, and I guess there's a little comfort in that, but… it's always a new adventure."

"Yeah, well, who says I'm looking for an adventure?"

"That's why it's _my_ happy place, Scully," Mulder said with a smirk. "But it's always better when you're around."

Scully glanced at Mulder whose eyes were glued to the road and gave up nothing about the true intentions of his words. He looked over for a brief moment and offered her an honest smile, and she knew he'd meant it. He valued her professionally… but she already knew that.

Six months ago, before she was taken away to Antarctica, she'd almost walked away and left the FBI and Mulder behind, but he'd broken down in a way she'd never experienced from him. She'd previously believed he was the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and in many ways that was true, but not when it came to their relationship. She'd always been the one to speak up, to assure him that she could be trusted, that she would—and had—put it all on the line… for him. That time, though, he'd reassured her.

But that time was different. That time, he'd needed her… for the endless quest toward his ever-elusive "truth." This time, he was simply saying… what was he saying? That he liked traipsing around the country, even better if she was with him? Was that really even a compliment? It _felt_ like a compliment. No. It felt like a flirtation.

Mulder drove and tried not to look over at Scully. He'd taken a risk, but it was part of his new approach to his partner. When he felt something, he was going to share it with her. Not so much the feeling of wanting her… that was increasingly becoming a constant state of being for him, but anything else, if it came over him, he'd share. He'd done things like this unintentionally a few times over the years: proposing to her over the phone when she spewed out a pretty complete laundry list of witchcraft and wizardry during her "vacation" to Maine or telling her he loved her after she'd somehow managed to rally the troops and rescue him from the Bermuda triangle. Most other times, his confessions had to do specifically with their work relationship, but he would no longer limit himself in that way. Of course, he'd tone everything down from how it initially arrived to his brain (he didn't want a repeat of the night she had to handcuff him to her bed). For example, it was clear to Mulder that his real "happy place" wasn't just made better by Scully… it was made possible by Scully. And he just couldn't get the idea out of his head that maybe he could… replace her bathtub.

Just like any of his theories, Mulder wasn't ready to be completely forthright with Scully. What would tell her? That he loved her, and he believed she could love him back if she would simply disengage all her defenses? No. It was just like every other case he was hoping she'd crack. He'd drop her a few hints here and there until she finally saw things his way. If she put up a fight or if she challenged him along the way… he'd know everything was moving in the right direction. It was all a part of her process. _Their_ process.

Before Scully could think any more about Mulder and his "happy place," her cellular phone rang from her jacket pocket. She pulled it out and answered without checking the caller ID. "Scully?"

Mulder winced when he heard her ask, "Mom?"


	37. Flukeman?

**Author's Note: **In honor of mother's day, here's to Maggie Scully. Thanks for reading and to my beta IAmLoisLane for her on-the-go beta-ing skillz. As always, let me know what you think :) Pretty please?

* * *

Scully tried to comprehend what her mother was saying on the phone, but was distracted as Mulder suddenly swung the car into a gas station.

"Mulder, what are you—yeah, hang on, Mom." Scully covered the phone with her hand and looked at Mulder curiously. "What are you doing?"

"Gas. We need it. We need to get—"

"We've got half a tank."

"Huh?" Mulder asked, but then got out of the car before Scully had time to repeat herself.

Scully tilted her head, her brow wrinkling, but snapped out of her confused trance when she heard her mother call her. "Dana? Hello? Hello, Dana?"

"Yes, Mom, I'm sorry," Scully apologized. "I'm in Florida on a case."

"I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I haven't been able to reach you at home."

"Yeah… It was a busy weekend."

"Okay, well, I was just checking on you so I'll let you and Mulder get back to—"

"I have a minute."

"Oh, okay," Maggie said. "How is everything?"

Scully chuckled. "It's okay to just ask me, Mom."

"Ask you what?" Maggie questioned with an unusual tone that Scully couldn't quite place.

"About Nathan," Scully said with rising suspicion.

"Who?" Maggie asked.

Exactly. Scully chuckled.

"Oh, Nathan Riley, you mean," Maggie concluded. "That's right, you two had a second date on Friday evening, didn't you?"

Scully narrowed her eyes and glanced out the back car window. Her mom was acting weird… and so was her partner. She watched Mulder stand at the gas pump and pretend to pump gas. At least, that's what she decided he must be doing. The nozzle was still in the car, but the dials had long since stopped moving.

"Mom, why are you acting so strange?"

"Strange? Dana, I'm fine."

"Really? Because last week, after one date, you asked me if Nathan was a man I could see myself marrying… and today you can't even remember him."

"I don't want to pressure you, that's all."

Scully smiled. "Of course you do."

"No, really—"

"And, it's okay. It's your job as the mother of a single woman in her thirties to-"

"Dana, listen to me. If you want to stay single for the rest of your life, you have my approval."

"I wouldn't say that's necessarily a specific life goal of mine."

"And, if you want to be with Nathan, that's certainly wonderful news."

Scully opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't know exactly what news she was breaking… much less how to break it.

"But, Sweetheart, if there's someone else you would rather be with… I just want you to know… it's not like I expect you to marry a doctor. My only requirement is that you pick someone who makes you happy."

Scully rolled her eyes, but deep down she was reassured by her mother's words. Even when she'd fought against it, her parents' opinions of her choices had always weighed heavily on her. With her father, it had mostly been his disappointment over her chosen career path that gnawed at her even after his death. Her mother, on the other hand, was nonjudgmental by nature. All of her children were vastly different, yet no one would ever accuse her of having a favorite. So Scully was already really aware that her mother would never criticize any choice she made regarding a romantic relationship. Still, it was nice to hear it out loud. It was also nice to be supported and loved so unconditionally.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, Dana," Maggie said then added, "and send Fox my love as well."

Fox. Scully chuckled. "Sure. Bye."

When Scully hung up the phone, she noticed Mulder was still staring at the gas pump. She leaned across the driver's seat and knocked on the window. Mulder finally hung up the nozzle and hopped in the car. He put his hands on the steering wheel and stared ahead.

"My mother said to send her love," Scully said lightly.

"Look, Scully, before you say anything else… I'm sorry."

Scully cocked her head to the side.

"In my defense, though, I was drugged… and handcuffed to the bed."

Scully started piecing this together with her mother's awkward tone, and suddenly she started to get worried. Surely, this wasn't all related.

"When the phone rang, I answered it. I didn't even imagine it would be anyone other than you… much less, your mother.'

Scully let out a small sigh and braced herself for the rest of Mulder's confession.

"If I had known it was her, I certainly wouldn't have mentioned being in your bed… much less being handcuffed to it. And, you know, in retrospect, a joke about you coming back with the key was probably a bad idea without confirming it was actually you on the phone."

And there it was. No wonder her mother was giving her permission to be with non-doctor types. It wasn't a general sort of go-ahead at all; it was a very specific stamp of approval.

"I tried to play it off as a gag, but I don't know if she bought it." Mulder turned to look at Scully for the first time. She was surprisingly mellow. "Or… did she believe me?"

"I'm pretty sure she knows we're not… involved, if that's what you mean."

"But does she know we're not doing the Devil's dirty dance every Saturday at noon?"

Scully laughed. "Where _do_ you get these euphemisms, Mulder?"

Mulder smiled and shrugged. "I guess they just… come… to me."

Scully fought off a laugh. She refused to reward him for a pun like that.

"Seriously, though, Scully… you're not mad at me?"

"Well," Scully began, feeling guilty for tricking Mulder into a confession, "my mother didn't mention anything about you… my bed… or the handcuffs."

Mulder scoff-chuckled. Damn. "So you gave me just enough rope to hang myself with, huh?"

"At least now I know what prompted her phone call."

Mulder's eyebrows went up with curiosity. "Why? What _did_ she say?"

"Actually—"

"Oh, Dana, dear," Mulder impersonated her mother in a voice that was less Maggie Scully and more Mrs. Doubtfire, "You're not letting that Fox fellow dip his wick in the company ink, are you? Because, while he is incredibly handsome… I think he may also be completely nuts."

"Mulder," Scully said through the laughter she couldn't stop, "Why does my mother sound like a perverted Irish nun from Wisconsin?"

"And while they say the crazy ones are great in the sack," Mulder continued in the ridiculous voice, "I'd prefer my eleven grandchildren to be fathered by someone who doesn't chase aliens for a living. Oh, which, by the by, reminds me… how was your second date with the perfectly perfect Dr. Nathan?"

"Who?" Scully asked as she tried to keep a straight face. It didn't work.

Mulder watched her laugh. They rarely slipped into the silly so it was an extra special treat to see her face flushed from the amusement of a moment he'd created. She was so, _so_ beautiful like this. He'd never wanted her more.

"She's happy you like Dr. Riley, isn't she?" Mulder asked, sobering to a reality he needed to force himself to face.

"She just wants me to be with someone who makes _me_ happy."

"And Nathan Riley's that guy. I mean, she really hit it out of the park with this one, didn't she?"

"I don't know," Scully said. "It's like you said before… there's compatibility… and then there's complementary. I'm starting to think maybe the former isn't as important as I've always made it… or as satisfying as I'd always imagined."

"So what you're saying is that in Scully's Hierarchy of Needs and Wants… your bathtub is still ahead of Nathan Riley."

"I think what I'm saying is there may be a lot of things still ahead of Nathan Riley."

"Flukeman?"

Scully laughed and reached over to place her hand lightly on Mulder's shoulder then told him, "Even _you're_ ahead of the Flukeman, Mulder." Way, way ahead. In fact, he was way, way ahead of pretty much everything and everyone on any list of her "needs and wants," but she certainly wasn't going to bring that up.

"A notch above the Flukeman, huh?" Mulder joked. "Well, I guess it's a start."


	38. Ubermenscher?

**Author's Note: **Later than my typical weekend review, but a little longer so I hope you forgive me. Thanks IAmLoisLane for your rad beta skillz :) Everyone else, thank you, and please let mebknow what you hate and what you love.

* * *

As she and Mulder drove through a beautiful upper-class residential neighborhood in Ocala, Scully's mind was tugged back to the time a few months before when they'd gone undercover in suburbia. While the case had been difficult, living with Mulder had been damn near impossible. But it was a tradeoff because, hoo-boy, was he cute in khakis and a polo.

"Is it just me or does this place remind you of The Falls?" Mulder asked her.

Scully nodded. "Yep." They seemed to be on the same page so often anymore, his comment didn't surprise her in the slightest.

"I hope we get an assignment like that again," Mulder said casually.

"Why? Are you suddenly interested in playing house?" Scully asked him playfully.

"Well, when it comes to playing… I've always been partial to 'doctor,' but I think I really just had fun watching you get so into the role… _Laura_."

"Okay… a) you were far more 'into the role' than I was, _Rob_, and b) how could you possibly walk away from that case and call it 'fun'?"

"Well, you know, I'm disregarding the CC&R Enforcement Monster."

"The people were the only monsters in that neighborhood," Scully stated.

Mulder guffawed. "That's a joke, right? I mean, I know you saw the ubermenscher."

"Mulder, how could I have? You locked me in a closet—"

"No, that was the vet who looked like the one guy from E.R. …"

"Well, you _left_ me in the closet."

"You're telling me you didn't see, for even one second, the giant monster made of trash?"

"I saw the trash… in a pile… on our front lawn."

Mulder groaned, but said no more as he followed the last few of Scully's directions to their destination.

When he pulled the rental car up to Eleanor Woodcomb's home, Scully noticed the name on the mailbox read "Jones."

"You sure this is the right house?" she asked.

"I think the question is: are _you_ sure it's the right house?" Mulder said as he parked the car on the street in front of the large two-story home. "You're the navigator."

"And I've navigated us to the address _you_ gave me."

"Which is the address the FBI gave me."

"Okay, so, who are the Joneses?"

"And more importantly, how can we keep up with them?" Mulder kidded.

Scully and Mulder made their way to the door where Scully rang the doorbell just as Mulder knocked. They glanced at one another, both smiling at their differing approach to even something so seemingly simple, but those same smiles faded when a man in his fifties answered the door.

"Can I help you?" the haggard-looking gentleman asked the agents. His clothes were disheveled and his eyes were red and puffy.

"Yes… uh… Mr. Jones?" Scully asked uncertainly.

"Frank Jones."

"I'm Agent Dana Scully. This is my partner Fox Mulder." They both flashed their badges. "Eleanor Woodcomb was your… ?"

"Daughter," Frank told them.

Scully and Mulder glanced at each other, sharing their sympathy for the grieving father. Finally, Scully asked, "We're investigating your daughter's death. May we come in and talk?"

"Investigating her death? She killed herself. Case closed. Now, if you'll excuse me," Frank tried to close the front door, but Mulder stuck his foot in as a doorstop.

"It could be more complicated than that, Mr. Jones. Please, if you'll just give us a moment of your time—"

"Unless you're here to tell me you're after her good-for-nothing husband for this—"

"We definitely think he's involved," Mulder interjected in a desperate attempt to capture Frank's attention. It worked.

Frank paused and walked away from the door, leaving it open for Mulder and Scully to follow. Scully looked hesitantly at Mulder, but when he nodded, she took the first step inside.

Frank invited them to have a seat at a formal dining room table, but offered no other hospitalities.

"Devon Woodcomb is the worst thing that's ever happened to my family," Frank said as he sat down in a chair opposite the agents.

Scully and Mulder waited, but when Frank did not continue, Mulder finally asked, "Could you provide us with a little more background on Mr. Woodcomb and his relationship with your daughter?"

Frank stared down at the table, but finally nodded. "She met him in high school. She was a cheerleader and an honor student. He was… "

"Trouble?" Mulder suggested after a long pause from Frank.

Frank nodded. "At first, I thought she was doing it to rebel against me."

"Why would she do that?" questioned Mulder.

"Her mother died when Ellie was ten. I tried to be a good parent to my two girls, but I worked a lot and they didn't get the attention… I just could have done better, I know that."

"Most parents who think they could have done better… have done better than most," Scully offered gently.

Frank smiled at her. It was small, but appreciative.

"I eventually figured out that whatever it was with Devon… it had nothing to do with me in the slightest. On the contrary, it was _all_ about him," Frank explained, staring at a spot on the wall. "Devon flunked out their senior year while Ellie went on to graduate near the top of her class, but… she didn't go to college in the fall because he told her not to. He wanted her to marry him, so she did. When he got into drugs, she turned into a junkie, too…"

Mulder glanced at Scully

"That boy… was the center of her universe," Frank said, shaking his head.

"Sounds more like a black hole," commented Mulder.

Frank made eye contact with him.

"Mr. Jones," Scully began, "Were you purposefully keeping your daughter from seeing or contacting her husband?"

Mulder and Scully both saw the shame wash over Frank's face. He nodded, barely.

"My other daughter, Charlotte, and I… we got her into rehab. It was only because Devon approved. I heard him tell her that it was safer there than at home. I figured maybe he owed some people—some dangerous people—some money. Maybe he wanted to keep Ellie safe. Who knows? He got sick about a week after she left… and when those doctors were willing to treat him for free… we counted it as a Godsend." Frank paused, tears in his eyes. "She just got home a few days ago… and now…"

"What was her behavior like?" Scully asked. "When she got out of rehab?"

Frank shrugged. "Well, naturally, she was upset about Devon. She wanted to go see him, but we convinced her that there was nothing she could do—to stay with us for a week or two then we'd all go up and see him together. I couldn't believe it, but she agreed. It was so nice to have her without him. She was more herself than she'd been in years. She actually thanked us for sending her to rehab. For those few days… we were a family again."

"Then… why… ?" Scully asked not wanting to put words to what his daughter had done to herself.

Frank shook his head. "He called. He asked her to go to him… we wouldn't—_I _wouldn't let her go."

"Well, what'd you do, lock her in the basement?" Mulder asked irreverently, but when he saw Scully's chastising look, he added, "I mean, why didn't she just go anyway?"

Frank hung his head. "She had no means. She asked me to buy her a plane ticket… bus ticket… anything, but I… I was done enabling her bad habits—including Devon."

"You did the right thing," Scully assured him.

"Did I? If she'd gone… would she still be dead?"

"That's something we're trying to establish," Mulder told him.

"You really think Devon's responsible?"

"Not directly," Scully said firmly. She didn't want to find out what an angry father could do to a man in a hospital bed. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Jones."

"Please, see yourselves out."

Mulder and Scully glanced at one another, each seemingly satisfied that the conversation was over. They got up and made their way back to the front foyer where a high-school-aged girl stood skulking.

"There's something he doesn't know. About Devon and my sister," this girl, presumably Ellie's sister Charlotte, whispered to the agents.

"Are you Charlotte?" Scully asked in a hushed tone.

The girl nodded. "He hit her."

"Your father?"

Charlotte's face twisted in disgust. "No. My father… he's a good man. He could never understand why Ellie chose to be with Devon, and neither could I when I started seeing the bruises. I confronted her about it and she told me the truth, but… she said she couldn't leave him… it was like she was tied to him by some string that was wrapped around everything inside of her—her very being… her—"

"Her soul?" Mulder asked softly. When Charlotte nodded, Mulder glanced at Scully to give her a pointed look.

"Okay, thank you, Charlotte," Scully said and gave her a gentle smile. "If you think of anything else… or if you just need someone to talk to… here's my card."

Scully handed off the card as Mulder opened the door for her. Charlotte took the card and nodded before she slipped away. Scully exited with Mulder close behind her.

When they got to the car, Mulder opened the passenger door for Scully, leaning boyishly against it as they spoke.

"I think we got some pretty solid answers to our questions," Scully said.

Mulder nodded. "Yeah. Actually, it sounded a lot like our chemistry teacher. She wanted to go… she just couldn't."

"Yes, except in the case of Ms. Weiss, it was morality keeping her away."

"Yeah, the same morality that made her try to kill herself. And I bet our altar boy probably had a mix of both."

"How do you mean?" Scully questioned.

"Well, I'm sure he wasn't thrilled with how he felt about Father O'Shea… nor did he, as Mr. Jones put it, have 'the means' to get on a plane and fly across the country. He was stuck like Eleanor Woodcomb was stuck in Ocala… and he hated himself for his feelings like Katrina Weiss in Barstow."

"All I'm hearing is that we don't have to go to Kansas City and interview another grieving father… and that's good news, but—"

"What you _should_ be hearing, Scully, is that my theory is still holding up pretty well."

"I guess, but does that mean when Sarah Burton arrives at the bedside of Chuck Carmichael… he'll miraculously be cured?"

"I guess there's only one way to find out," Mulder grinned and motioned for Scully to get back into the car.

"Oh, Mulder… more travel?"

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to intercept Sarah Burton, remember?"

Scully tilted her head to the side and stared at him. The thought of another plane ride made her want to strangle him. She really might have hated him if she didn't love him so much. That thought made her smile a dopey grin that she knew Mulder noticed.

"What?" he asked softly, leaning in a little and lifting both his eyebrows in innocent curiosity. What could possibly make her smile like that? But then he saw a look of horror and fear take over her face as she looked past him toward the street, toward the car Mulder could hear slowly approaching. "What?"

"Mulder, get down!" she yelled and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, yanking him all the way down to the ground.

He was completely confused as he lay over her crumpled body, his lips precariously close to hers. "Scully, what the hell are you doing?"

"Someone in that car had a—"

Then the gunshots rat-tat-tatted against the metal of the rental car. Another set of bullets sailed over the car and shattered window after window in the Jones' house.

"Stay down," Mulder told Scully as he tried to get up.

Scully held hard onto his lapels. "You, too."

Mulder wanted to get a look at the vehicle, see the assailants, maybe take a shot at a tire… but the look in Scully's eyes forced him to freeze. It was more than fear, more than concern for his well-being. What he saw was intense and true… deep and complicated. He almost smiled, almost let his lips graze hers. A few more shots snapped him back to reality as glass from the window of the opened car door showered down on them both.

Mulder pulled his jacket up to protect Scully's face from the last of the glass shards that rained over them. He realized that if he had stood when he'd wanted, it would be him instead of the window lying broken on the concrete next to Scully. She'd saved him.

Pulling him down because she'd seen the barrel of the TEC-9 sticking out the back passenger widow of the car that had rolled slowly down the residential street had made sense—still did make sense—but Scully really didn't know why she'd stopped Mulder from getting up when she did. Had she been alone, she would have chosen the exact same moment to pop up for a look at the license plate or shooter… possibly to take a shot or two of her own. She wasn't the type to buy into intuition or gut feelings, but that was the only way she could explain her actions.

"Well," Mulder whispered, his lips near her ear, brushing her hair with each word, "I'm glad you decided to come to Florida with me, Scully."


	39. Sign of the Apocalypse?

**Author's Note: **Thanks to my beta reader IAmLoisLane for taking time out of her super-busy schedule to get this beta-ed today. Much appreciated on my end. Thanks to you guys for sticking with this story. I hope it's going as you would have liked. Oh, and, you know, considering the world was supposed to end yesterday, I had to make a few apocalypse jokes :)

* * *

It had taken just a few minutes for the local police department to arrive at the residence. In that time, Mulder and Scully had made their way inside to check on Frank and Charlotte whom they found scared, but otherwise unharmed.

They had all been checked out by a small squad of friendly and efficient paramedics while a local narcotics detective explained to the agents that this was the calling card of the local drug dealer who didn't like it when his pushers held back part of what he felt was his proper cut. Mulder and Scully steered the detective away from Frank Jones and explained that Devon Woodcomb was currently under medical care in Fairfax County, Virginia. With the added detail of the recent suicide of Mr. Jones' daughter, the detective agreed to put a patrol car at the house for the next several days. Satisfied that the family would be kept safe, Mulder and Scully got in their rental car and headed back for Orlando.

Mulder was uncharacteristically quiet all the way back to Orlando. It gave Scully time to replay the same details she'd given the detective in Ocala. She'd seen the car, a late model black Cadillac, approach. There had been one man, an African-American male in his twenties with braided hair and sunglasses, driving the car. The passenger had been a Caucasian male, even younger than the driver, with brown hair and dark features. The gun, she was sure, had been a TEC-9. She only saw the top of the banana clip, but it had been there, just below the rolled-down car window.

That was when Scully had pulled Mulder down… and had kept him down—even when he'd wanted to get up, even though it had been fairly reasonable to get up. It was this particular moment she replayed on the silent drive. She wanted to figure out why she'd held onto him, told him to stay down… but she couldn't because it wasn't a reason at all, it was a feeling. It was the same feeling that led her to Florida instead of to Kansas City or back to D.C. To call it "intuition" felt wrong. Could it simply be that as her feelings changed for him, so did her judgment? Not that it was for better or worse… but simply that it got more selfish? Had she put him ahead of the case? Would she always?

Scully glanced over at Mulder and realized just how quiet he'd been. In fact, she noticed, he hadn't even been nibbling on any sunflower seeds. He gripped the wheel tightly and stared straight ahead… and had done so for the entirety of the drive from Ocala to Orlando. They passed a sign for Disney World and Scully took the opening:

"So… we're not stopping by the happiest place on Earth, after all? I must say, I'm a little disappointed."

"Well, like you said," Mulder replied, still slightly distracted, "your bathtub's not in Florida, but, you know… if you really want some mouse ears…" Mulder glanced at her with a small smile, but he wasn't his usual exuberant self.

"You okay, Mulder?"

Good question. He was okay in the sense that he was still alive, thanks to Scully, but he was definitely shaken up. It wasn't so much the brush with death; he'd certainly had plenty of those since he started with the FBI. What really rattled him was that his instincts had been wrong while hers had been right. He wasn't upset in a competitive sort of way, but rather in the way that made him question his own competence. Did he need her better judgment today? Would he always?

"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine… it's just…" Mulder sighed. "You're my guardian angel, you know that, Scully?"

Scully scoffed. "Mulder…"

"Seriously, how many times have you saved my ass? How many times—"

"Have you saved mine? We're partners, Mulder. That's what we do."

"Okay, all right so… why'd you pull me back down today?"

"To prevent you from being shot. To save your ass."

"We both know it was more than that, Scully. How'd you know those guys were going to shoot again? What made you hold me down?"

"Oh, so… now you've got a _problem_ with me being a cuddler?"

Mulder raised his eyebrows to the road ahead of him, half his mouth pulling into a smile of consideration. "You want to stop by Disney World and snuggle up in the Hall of Presidents, just let me know, but-

"The Hall of Presidents? I would have figured you for a Space Mountain kind of guy."

"You're deflecting," Mulder accused despite his smile.

Scully sighed. "That's because I can't explain why I did it," she admitted, frustrated with her own lack of a logical explanation.

"And why didn't you go to Kansas City or head back to Washington? Why'd you decide to come with me to Florida?"

"Because you convinced me—"

Mulder's guffaw cut her off. "I convinced you? Please. I don't think I've ever actually convinced you of anything."

"Mulder, I…"

"Come on, Scully. Why _really_?"

"I don't know. I just…"

"Had a feeling?" he supplied.

"If you're implicating I had some sort of psychic premonition—"

"I wouldn't dare," he spoke through a grin.

"Well, then, I don't know what you want me to say. I knew I should come with you to Florida just like I knew you needed to stay down today. I just…" She hated to say it, but she could think of no other explanation. "I just knew."

"I knew, too," he admitted cautiously. "I knew to listen to you today… even though my gut reaction was to get up and go for a shot. And at the airport in California… I felt strongly that we should interview Eleanor Woodcomb's family, but if you'd insisted on going to one of those other places… I'd have switched my ticket and gone with you. No question."

Scully sighed. "That's just hindsight bias."

"Uh huh. In hindsight, you were right, and I was wrong."

"I'm sorry… could you repeat that?"

Mulder laughed. "Scully, you were right."

"I think that might be a sign of the apocalypse."

"What, you being right?"

"No," she explained, "you admitting it."

"Hey, at least I was smart enough to follow your lead today."

"Really, Mulder… you're making far too much out of—"

"Oh, just let me be grateful about this, okay?" he begged.

Scully watched Mulder for a long moment as he pulled out a few sunflower seeds from his jacket pocket and popped them into his mouth. Where was he going with all of this? Did he really think she was his guardian angel? However he meant it, he was giving her far more credit than she deserved. She tried to think back first to the airport then to the moment that day when she'd held him down. Had the feelings really been gut reactions or had she simply been so desperate to stick with him or to keep him safe that she needed to stay close to him or to keep him close to her? Even more puzzling to her at the moment was that beyond his silly and normal teasing, he seemed to be genuinely appreciative.

"Look, Mulder, we can debate the validity of what are essentially hunches all day—Lord knows you get good ones all the time—"

"Time out. Now there's a real sign the world is ending. You're saying _I_, Fox Mulder, your partner at the FBI, have _good_ instincts?"

"What I said was that you sometimes-"

"You said _all_ the time, actually."

"Fine. Whatever. When given a choice, you typically make the right one. Happy now?"

"Oh, you have no idea," he teased. "Would you care to say it _one_ more time? Just so I can get a really good sound byte for my mental scrapbook?"

Scully rolled her eyes. "No, I would not… unless it's going to help us solve the case… which is what we need to be focused on right now."

"Okay, Scully, fine… if you want to derail this conversation using official FBI business… I'll let it slide."

Scully shook her head, but also chuckled as she turned to look out of the car window. Mulder was nuts, for sure, but if he was willing to drop it, she was appreciative.

As they drove, silence once again surrounded them, and Mulder passed an occasionally curious glance over at Scully. It seemed his theory about soul mates didn't have as many holes as he'd anticipated. He might have taken this as bad news, if he didn't feel so connected to Scully. Most exciting of all was the look he saw in her eyes each time she glanced up and met his gaze. While she may have been more confused about her feelings than he was, she felt the connection, too.


	40. Curve Ball?

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading and for the reviews so many of you are kind enough to send. Thanks, also, to IAmLoisLane who is my busy beta reader who always finds the time for me.

* * *

The plane ride back to D.C. was uncrowded and uneventful. About an hour in, they got a meal that was little more than a TV dinner. Scully picked at her rubbery chicken and Mulder inhaled his while they discussed how they hadn't had any decent food since they'd left Dulles the previous afternoon.

"We can't keep running ourselves ragged like this, you know," Scully pointed out.

Mulder nodded as he shoveled chicken and previously frozen peas into his mouth.

"I just can't wait to get home and take a—"

"Bath?" Mulder asked with a mouthful of food.

"Nap."

Mulder swallowed. "What about Sarah Burton?"

"After we interview Sarah Burton," Scully corrected.

"And what about talking to the doctors?"

"Fine. After we interview Sarah Burton and after we speak with Nathan and Meredith, I'm going to—"

"What about—"

"What about _what_?" she asked to cut him off. Her eyes shot daggers, but Mulder realized they were made of rubber when he caught the glint in her eye.

"Never mind," he played along. "What else did Skinner have to say?"

"Just that they picked up Sarah Burton at the bus station a few hours ago. She's cooperating, but they also promised her, as you asked, that she would be able to see Chuck Carmichael."

"We'll make good on that promise," said Mulder as he licked off his plastic fork and tossed it onto his empty plate. Scully offered him her plate, but he waved it off.

"You're not afraid of what will happen when two halves of a single soul are allowed to finally be united?" Scully asked sarcastically.

"Couldn't be any worse than the destructive force that came from the union of Devon Woodcomb and Ellie Jones."

"Or their separation."

"Good point," Mulder agreed.

"So I shouldn't expect sparks or…"

"Little cartoon hearts?"

Scully smirked, but raised an eyebrow. She wanted an answer.

"I don't know, Scully. I don't know what happens when you meet your soul mate. Maybe the world stops spinning, time stands still. Maybe you… feel the earth move under your feet… you feel the sky tumbling down… "

"Mulder—"

"Tumbling down," he sang the repeated line of the Carol King lyric way off key.

"Can we not talk—or sing—about the sky tumbling down… while we're traveling on a plane?"

"Then again," Mulder said, thinking back to the first time he met Scully, "Maybe nothing special happens at all. Maybe it's a slow sort of realization."

"Maybe," Scully said, wanting to believe him for her own reasons, "but Katrina Weiss claimed she knew there was something special about Henry from the moment she met him."

Mulder nodded. He knew that feeling. It was the one he got when Scully walked into his office for the first time. It was what made him open himself up to her so immediately despite the paranoid veil of secrecy with which he'd surrounded himself… and still did, to a great extent. It was that very same feeling that had slowly, but surely evolved into the love he no longer bothered to hide from either of them—at least, not completely.

Scully wondered if she'd always, in some small way, had a similar feeling toward Mulder. She'd certainly supported and followed him beyond reason on more than one occasion. In fact, despite a few rebellious acts, she'd nearly always done exactly as he'd wanted. If it hadn't been love all along, how could she even begin to explain herself? In retrospect, she really couldn't believe she'd had the nerve to write it off as anything else.

"What are you thinking, Scully?" Mulder wondered aloud.

"I was just trying to decide if I've ever had a similar experience."

"Yeah? And?" Mulder wanted to know. He really wanted to know.

"Are you asking me if I've met my soul mate?" she asked lightly.

"I guess I am," he replied seriously.

"I don't know… I mean, I'd know, right? According to your theory?"

"I'm not sure I've developed that portion of the theory. But, you know what? It really doesn't matter. Whether one or both parties realize it or not, it wouldn't stop them from being soul mates. Your soul doesn't need your knowledge or permission to find its other half," Mulder deduced. "Some of the people we've met are proof of that."

"That's sort of a loose interpretation of the word 'proof,' don't you think?"

"Even if you can't prove something, Scully, that doesn't necessarily make it any less true."

"I suppose that's accurate," Scully admitted. "But it would be nice if one of us could actually prove something one way or the other every once in awhile."

"What if we just agree on something? Would that count?"

"That would count for… a lot," Scully said through a smile. "But it wouldn't be proof of anything… except maybe that impending apocalypse."

"Well, Scully, I gotta admit… sometimes when I'm working with you, I _do_ feel the earth move under my feet…"

"Thankfully, this isn't one of those times."

"How do _you_ know?"

"Because… we're on an airplane, Mulder. There is no earth under you feet."

"Now you're just turning the metaphor against me."

Scully smiled at him. The endless quarrelling. She was aware of why she encouraged him, but why did he engage her in the first place? Was this conversation just a way to amuse himself on a long plane ride or did he also take some deeper pleasure from the give-and-take of their ceaseless verbal sparring? And was her own scientific stubbornness as stimulating to him as his passionate contrariness was to her?

Scully suddenly started to consider the slew of suggestive comments he'd been hurling at her since they'd been in Florida. They were beyond his typical innuendo—which was very rarely launched directly at her. These remarks were flirtatious… and focused specifically on Scully. Was he simply exploring a new way to push her buttons or could he possibly have some other motivation? She couldn't help but be curious about what may happen if she were to… flirt back.

"I'd rather turn the metaphor against you, Mulder, than agree with you because I'm afraid something like that might just… turn you on."

She watched him carefully, noting the immediate and obvious redness brush across his cheeks. She saw his mouth come open ever-so-slightly as his soft, but sharp inhale gave away his surprise. Then he recovered. It took about two seconds, but Scully had seen it all clearly. She'd never realized, before that moment, just how easy it was to surprise him, embarrass him… excite him? This new-found skill was like finding buried treasure in your own backyard… and ten times as exhilarating.

"You think agreeing with me turns me on? You're way off," he replied. It was difficult to muster the mockingly playful tone he'd wanted while he was still trying to recover from the shock—and then the excitement—of hearing of her words. "You got no clue what turns me on, Scully."

"Aside from whatever is on those tapes that aren't yours," she said as if thinking about it, "I definitely know you like to cuddle."

Mulder opened his mouth, but no retort formed there. Instead, he grabbed her meal tray and started packing large bites into his mouth. Since when did Scully talk about what turned him on? Then again, he'd been goading her all day. Still, it seemed wildly out of character.

And that was what Scully, who knew only the basics of baseball, liked to call a curve ball.


	41. Just Knew?

**Author's Note:** Thank you IAmLoisLane for your speedy and awesome beta work. Also, thanks to my two real life friends who I've somehow convinced to read this. You have no idea how much it means to me. To everyone else who reads and reviews, I appreciate it SO much. And, you know, I always love to hear what you think :)

* * *

When they arrived at the Hoover building that afternoon, Scully and Mulder made their way to the holding room where Sarah Burton was waiting. As they rode up on the elevator, Scully realized that since her little remark on the plane, Mulder had turned back into the gentleman he normally was and hadn't made even the slightest suggestive comment. Unlike their arguments, which always seemed to escalate with each exchanged opinion, it appeared flirtation, when offered from both sides, cancelled out like sound waves that interfere with each other so much they create a dead spot. Scully was okay with this unspoken moratorium because it would allow her to concentrate completely on the case. As exhausted as she was, she needed all the focus she could get.

Mulder had been focused on being "normal," acting as he always acted and trying not to draw Scully's attention. He had no idea what to make of her statement during the flight home, but he suddenly felt like a complete… coward. Wasn't her response precisely what he'd been pushing her for? Didn't he want her to realize that what really turned him on… what he really wanted… was her? But he knew any conclusions she'd drawn had been within the context of the game he'd created and, likewise, her response. As playful as he'd been, his feelings for her were far from a joke, and the very thought that he'd conveyed his love so poorly royally pissed him off. He decided that, moving forward, he was still going to be frank about his feelings, but he was going to stop forcing it. He'd pushed, and Scully had pushed back. That was their normal dance number, but it was too put-on for Mulder's tastes. When it came to Scully's love, if he had any hope earning it, he wanted his victory to be a naturally occurring phenomenon. Less trying. Less playing. They had work to do anyway, and Mulder knew he needed to sacrifice his full attention to Sarah Burton and her explanation of the events that led her to Chuck Carmichael.

Just as they got to the door of the holding room, Skinner approached and stopped them. "Hold it right there, both of you. Three plane rides in twenty-four hours? Accounting isn't exactly jumping up and down right now."

"Well, look at it this way," Mulder offered, "they didn't have to pay for a single hotel room. We caught our winks on the plane. Right, Scully?"

"Yeah. More or less." Scully turned her lips inward, preventing the formation of a smile. "I mean, I know _I_ slept well."

Mulder couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips or the look that lingered on her. Was Scully really, basically unprompted, referring to the snuggle-palooza that had previously embarrassed her so? She couldn't be.

"What the hell is going on with you two?" Skinner demanded.

"Sir?" they asked simultaneously, looking first at him then at one another.

Skinner looked from Mulder to Scully then back to Mulder. Mulder's raised eyebrows proclaimed his ignorance. Skinner sighed. "You both seem a bit… distracted."

"I think we're just sleep-deprived, Sir," Scully said.

"I thought you said you slept well on the plane," Skinner countered.

"Slept well, not slept long," Scully returned calmly.

"Yeah, really, I know I've been more than a little loopy today," Mulder testified.

"And does this sleep-deprived loopiness have something to do with the shooting at the residence of the family you were interviewing in Ocala?"

"Not at all," Mulder answered. "That had nothing to do with us."

"It was also unrelated to this case," Scully asserted.

"Devon Woodcomb apparently owes some drug lords a whole lot of cash. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I see," Skinner said, his words still coated with suspicion.

"If that's all, Sir, I'd like to get some face time with Sarah Burton," said Mulder.

Skinner gave them each another long, inquisitive look, but then finally opened the door of the holding room.

Sarah Burton was a pretty blonde in her mid-twenties. She smiled when Mulder and Scully entered the room and introduced themselves. "You're the agents who think Chuck's my soul mate?"

"Is that what _you_ think, Ms. Burton?" Scully asked as she took a seat at the table across from the young woman.

"I guess. I mean, I never thought about it in those terms until the bald guy told me your theory," Sarah answered Scully.

"For the record, it's _my_ theory," Mulder said then turned to Scully. "And remind me to tell Skinner that I'd appreciate it if I was the one who got to reveal my theories to the witness."

"Witness? Has there been a crime committed?" Sarah asked.

"Not exactly," Scully admitted.

"Ms. Burton, can you tell us what happened when you met Chuck that day at the grocery story?" Mulder questioned.

Sarah beamed. "I dunno, it was… subtle."

"What was subtle?" Scully asked.

Sarah shrugged. "The whole experience. It didn't hit me right away."

As they waited for her to continue, Mulder and Scully glanced at one another.

"I was in the ice cream case looking for lime sherbet. They were sold out, I think. I was digging through the shelf, looking through all the orange sherbet when I finally had to take a step back because I was freezing. When I looked up, I saw this guy buying some frozen peas. He was cute; he definitely caught my eye, you know… but that was it. He smiled at me when he walked by then he was gone."

"And that was enough to make you get on a plane at the drop of a hat?" Scully asked skeptically.

"You know that expression 'you don't know what you've got until it's gone?' Well, this was like that. The minute he walked away, I went from freezing to fire. And every day it got worse… or better maybe, depending on how you look at it."

"Wait, wait," Mulder interrupted. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know. I knew I loved him, but I didn't freak out about it or anything."

"You weren't worried that you would never see him again?" Scully asked.

"No, "Sarah answered. "I knew I would."

"How?" asked Scully.

Sarah shrugged. "I don't know. I can't explain it because I've never experienced anything like it, but when he called me the other day and told me who he was… I knew I had to get to him."

"But how?" Scully asked insistently. "How did you know?"

"I really can't say. I just…" Sarah chuckled. "I just knew."

Scully's eyes looked for Mulder's and found them already on her. This was starting to sound disconcertingly familiar.

"I _am_ still going to be able to see him, right?"

"What if you couldn't?" Mulder wanted to know.

"Are you saying I can't?"

"No. I just want to know if you'd do something drastic if we prevented you from seeing him?"

"What like kill myself or something?"

Mulder and Scully exchanged another look.

"Wait, for real?" Sarah asked. "No. No, I would not harm myself if you wouldn't let me see Chuck today."

"What about tomorrow… and the next day… and the day after that?" Mulder pushed.

"If I really couldn't ever see him?" Sarah asked, considering it. "Well, I do have to be with him, I know that. Just like I have to breathe air to survive."

"So, right now, you're what?" Scully asked. "Holding your breath?"

Sarah smiled genuinely. "Exactly."

"What happens when you run out of air?" Mulder posed the question then watched as Sarah Burton's face twisted into a frown.

Sarah shrugged. "What always happens?"

"When Chuck Carmichael called you, what did he say?" Scully asked, hoping to move away from this metaphor and back to the facts of the case.

"He told me who he was—the guy from the grocery store. And he told me his name," Sarah smiled fondly at the memory. "Chuck. How adorable is that name?"

Scully fought off the urge to roll her eyes. "And you're sure it was him calling?"

Mulder glanced at her. Classic Scully.

"It was him."

"How do you know?" Scully asked.

"Seriously?" Sarah asked, laughing.

"You never spoke to him before, correct?"

"So, what? I still knew it was him."

"How?" Scully asked.

"Is she for real?" Sarah asked Mulder.

"She… just… knew, Scully," Mulder said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Scully turned her attention back to Sarah. "What did he say when he called?"

"He told me where he was. He said they'd been keeping him sedated, but that he wanted to see me. He begged me to come see him. Like he had to beg."

"And then you just got on a bus and—"

"Haven't either of you ever been in love?" Sarah asked then watched them closely as they specifically did not look at one another. "Oh, boy. Oh, man. Okay, listen: when you're in love and someone asks you to do something or to go somewhere, you don't ask questions… you just follow. Ya follow?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think we do. And thank you for your time, Ms. Burton. We've got to talk to Chuck's doctors, and then we'll call to have you taken over to the hospital, okay?" Mulder promised as he stood up.

"Okay, but make it quick, huh? This is my soul mate we're talking about."

Scully turned her head before she rolled her eyes and followed Mulder out of the room. When they reached the hallway, they were silent for a moment.

"What do you think, Scully?"

"Seriously?" Scully asked mocking Sarah's tone.

"Oh, come on, how many times were you going to ask her how she knew something? She just knew, Scully. Just like you just knew to go to Florida with me."

"Well, not _just_ like that," Scully corrected out loud, but actually, it was _just_ like that.

She did it because she loved him.


	42. Elvis?

**Author's Note:** I love you guys. Nothing builds up my delicate ego like your ridiculously good comments. You have no idea how much they are appreciated. Thanks to my beta reader IAmLoisLane for giving me the go-ahead on her limited schedule. And even though only a couple of you will see this, thanks to my real life friends for letting me be so freaking crazy.

* * *

"How do you want to break the news to the good doctors?" Mulder asked Scully as he drove them toward the Fairfax County Medical Facility.

"Not sure. Any suggestions of your own?"

Mulder twisted his lips in thought. "Surprise! You're under investigation!"

"Are they, though?

"Surprised?" he asked in antagonistic jest.

"Under investigation."

"Well, I don't think they're behind the whole thing, if that's what you mean. I think Dr. Foster is the type of person to look for anomalous patterns—"

"That's an oxymoron," she said in a purposefully condescending tone.

"So is 'Mulder and Scully,' but that hasn't stopped us yet."

"Why does your name always go first?" she asked with the hint of a put-on pout.

"I don't know. Usually the straight man goes first, but in this case, that would be you."

"I'm the straight _man_?" Scully questioned. "Thanks a lot."

"It's just a figure of speech," Mulder explained innocently. His enjoyment of this conversation was already immense. "Out of the two of us, you're obviously the serious one."

"I'm not really 'straight man' serious, though, am I?"

Mulder laughed. "No. No, you're _way_ more serious than that."

Scully's jaw fell open in shock, though it was just an act. She knew her role as "straight man" quite well, and she had no problem with it—though setting him up for punch-lines wasn't exactly undemanding work. Being the funny guy was as easy as being the believer: you see a joke, you take it; you hear an idea, you buy it. When you're the straight man, as when you're the skeptic, you have to hold back. You have to leave the best lines to your partner; you have to question even when you want so badly to believe. Scully pulled it off well, and dammit, she wanted credit for it. "If I really am the straight man, then the next time you introduce us, I expect to hear 'Scully and Mulder.'"

"Yeah. Sure. Okay," Mulder agreed with a chuckle then tossed in, "Beauty before age. Got it."

It was so subtle, so off-hand, so matter-of-fact, Scully almost didn't realize he'd been paying her a compliment. It felt better without the blatancy with which he'd been recently delivering his innuendo. In fact, it felt so good, so right, Scully felt certain she should ignore it and continue on with the verbal cat-and-mouse they had going on. "And, you know, why are you always the one introducing us anyway, Mulder?"

"Because it's the gentlemanly thing to do, but if you want to be first, Scully, well, I will be glad to put you first," Mulder said, fully intending the double entendre without intentionally drawing attention to it.

"Good," she answered simply.

"I hope this isn't going to be like the desk thing."

Scully sighed. He would bring that up. One of the few times she hadn't followed him faithfully… along with one of the few times he hadn't ask her to. He'd wanted her to go to Philadelphia to keep tabs on a case he'd been working while he went off on what he'd referred to as "personal" and a "spiritual journey." She, on the other hand, had been after more earthly pleasures. She'd gotten a tattoo, she'd slept in the apartment of a stranger, Ed Jerse. In fact, she probably would have done much more than sleep if he hadn't been so clearly… disturbed. She'd told Mulder, at the time, it wasn't about him, and, at the time, she may have believed that to be true. Now, though, she suspected her actions had been heavily influenced by Mulder and the tension—both negative and positive—that had existed between them. She'd gotten over that, at least in the sense that she no longer harbored any hostility toward Mulder, but that other tension—the one she'd only recently admitted—was still as consuming as it had been before she'd realized it existed.

"Scully?"

"Huh?" she asked, still distracted by her thoughts.

"I was just kidding about the desk thing."

"I know."

"I mean, kind of…"

"Hey, where'd you go?"

"You're the one who zoned out on me there," Mulder stated, confused.

"On your 'spiritual journey,'" she expounded. "When I was in Philly."

Mulder chuckled. "You really want to know?"

"Yes—well, wait…"

Mulder smiled mischievously and waggled his eyebrows.

"It's not _that_ disgusting is it?"

"By your standards or mine?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Forget it," she countered.

Mulder laughed at her dismissal. "I was in Memphis."

"Memphis? As in Tennessee?"

"Uh huh," he said, imitating the King.

"Oh, Mulder, no… you didn't."

"What?"

"Graceland? Really?" Scully didn't have to scoff, roll her eyes or arch an eyebrow; her skepticism seeped from the words themselves.

Mulder shrugged sheepishly. "Scully, it was amazing."

"And did you find what you were looking for?"

"I didn't find Elvis alive and well, if that's what you mean."

Scully smiled. Elvis. Mulder, in his own idiosyncratic way, was so utterly adorable that she couldn't even stop herself from loving his hunk-a-hunk-a-burning love for the King of Rock 'n' Roll.

"Well, Scully, I guess it's… one for the money," Mulder sang as he pulled the car into the Fairfax County Medical Facility's parking garage, "Scully?"

He glanced over with such boyish good humor that she had to stop herself from smiling like a smitten school girl. Instead, she stared at him blankly.

"Come on, two for the show…"

Scully cleared her throat to cancel out her laughter as Mulder pulled into a parking stall.

"Oh, come on, Scully. One for the money… two for the show…"

"Three to get ready," she placated monotonously.

"Now, go cat, go…" Mulder hummed a few more bars as he hopped out of the car and got around to open Scully's car door before she had a chance to do it for herself. She hated how much she loved the "gentlemanly" gesture.

Scully walked with Mulder toward the elevator. When they got there, she pushed the button and said, "Maybe Nathan and Meredith will be more cooperative if we promise not to step on their blue suede shoes."

"And she knows her Elvis lyrics," Mulder said wistfully as if adding something to an already existing list. "Dare I say… I'm all shook up."

"Cute," she said as the elevator arrived, "but we still have no clue how we're going to approach our potential witnesses."

Mulder stuck his arm into the elevator to hold open the door as he gestured for Scully to enter. "Well… I guess it's good for me that… the straight man goes first…"


	43. Recovery?

**Author's Note: **Happy Sunday. Thanks to my beta reader IAmLoisLane. Thanks Dr. AweSome (see what I did there?). And, thanks to everyone who reads. All reviews are appreciated, but some of you have really gone above and beyond to leave me complimentary and lengthy comments. Thank you!

* * *

As they rode up, Mulder leaned against the elevator wall and drummed on the railing, presumably to the beat of whatever Elvis song was playing in his head. When he added a foot tap, Scully'd had enough. "Mulder."

He stilled himself by crossing his arms across his chest and one leg over the other. "So, what did you tell Dr. Perfect—"

"Please don't accidentally call him that to his face."

"How about on purpose?"

She stared at him with her chin tilted down. Mulder nodded once. Message received. "What did you tell _Dr_. _Riley_?"

"That we needed to speak with him and with Meredith."

"And he didn't question it?"

Scully shrugged. "No. Actually, he said they had something they wanted to talk to us about, too."

When they arrived at the doctors' annex, they made their way down the maze of hallways. Mulder paused at the patient bay to look in through the large glass window. Scully pulled up next to him.

"They may look bad, but they all look better than the King," Mulder observed.

"Did you just admit that Elvis is dead?"

"No…" Mulder got distracted by the men before him. He counted the beds. "Scully, there are only four men in there."

"Who's missing?"

"I'd bet the farm it's Father O'Shea and Devon Woodcomb," asserted Mulder as he peered in and tried to get a better look at the remaining men.

"You think they're dead?" she asked in surprise.

"If being separated from their soul mates caused their illness, what do you think would happen when their other half passed away?"

"You're saying Father O'Shea and Devon Woodcomb died because their 'soul mates' died?"

"I think so."

"You may want to think again," Scully said as she looked up the hallway.

Mulder followed her line of sight and saw Dr. Meredith Foster and the still-perfect Dr. Nathan Riley each pushing a wheel chair. Mulder recognized the man in Meredith's chair as Father O'Shea right away and assumed the other man was Devon Woodcomb. The men were quiet, but looked otherwise well.

"Dana. Hi," Nathan said so warmly that Scully couldn't decide if she felt guiltier about being moments away from springing the investigation on him or the fact that she no longer had even the slightest romantic interest in him.

"We'll be right back," Meredith greeted with a smile as she and Nathan walked toward Mulder and Scully.

"Those men aren't being discharged, are they?" Mulder wanted to know.

"Just being moved to private rooms after their recovery," Meredith answered.

"Recovery?" Scully asked with raised eyebrows.

"Who the hell are _they_?" Devon Woodcomb asked, glancing back at Nathan. "They're not doctors, are they? They don't look like doctors."

"No. No, they're special consultants." Meredith said soothingly.

"We brought them in due to the unusual nature of your case," Nathan added, playing along with Meredith's slight fib.

"I don't like the looks of them," Devon said with a sneer.

"Relax, Mr. Woodcomb," Nathan said with an apologetic glance to the agents.

Father O'Shea spotted Scully's cross then met her eyes. He nodded a silent hello and gave her a sad smile. She mirrored the gesture as the doctors wheeled away the patients.

"Can you believe that punk ass?" Mulder asked when they were gone, worked up over the encounter with Eleanor Woodcomb's abusive husband.

"He looked sad. And terribly guilty."

"Like hell he did. I almost got shot because he's in the habit of making stupid life choices, and he has the nerve to say _he_ doesn't like the looks of _us_."

"I meant Father O'Shea. And, cut Devon Woodcomb a little slack, okay, Mulder? He just lost his wife."

"He doesn't know that."

"He can dial the phone with him mind, but he doesn't have the ability to 'just know' when his soul mate dies? That seems a bit silly," Scully said sarcastically.

Before Mulder could retort, Meredith and Nathan came back around the corner.

"Sorry about that," Nathan apologized then inspected Scully's face. "Are you okay? You both look a little… tired."

"We should tell you up front," Mulder spoke up, "we're here in an official capacity."

Meredith met his eyes. She tilted her head. "Let's find somewhere to talk."

After about thirty minutes in a comfortable waiting area, Scully and Mulder had explained the case to Nathan and Meredith who mostly just listened silently, only speaking when asked a question. Neither had any knowledge of the phone calls and could not explain how sedated men could even get to a telephone, much less place a call, though Nathan discounted Mulder's suggestion of psychic dialing. Meredith's brow wrinkled when she learned of the related suicides and stayed that way as Scully and Mulder told some of the details of their interviews with Katrina Weiss in Barstow, Eleanor Woodcomb's father in Ocala and Sarah Burton who was waiting with Skinner in the hospital's main lobby.

"This makes no sense," Nathan finally said. "What you're saying makes no scientific sense whatsoever."

"No, it doesn't," Scully agreed.

"Welcome to the X-Files," Mulder said with a grin directed at Foster, but she didn't reciprocate. He frowned. "I know this is hard to swallow, but—"

"It's not that I don't believe you. It actually does make sense to me," insisted Meredith. "Spiritual longing turns into a physical manifestation. Scientifically—medically—speaking, it could be a psychosomatic disorder or somatoform, even."

"Exactly. Scully was reading this study—"

"About allergens," Meredith interrupted. "I was telling Nathan about that just last week."

"And I told Meredith that I thought it was simply the placebo effect in reverse, nothing more."

"Maybe you were wrong," Mulder retorted.

"Well, no offense, _Agent_ Mulder, but maybe, since out of the four of us, you're the only one _without_ a medical degree, you're the one who—"

"Nathan, really," Meredith cut him off.

"I have a degree in psychology, actually," Mulder said in the most matter-of-fact tone he could muster, "And the placebo effect shows just how important the brain is to our physical health. In other words, how psychology affects physiology so, though I may not be a perfect doctor like the rest of you, I think I'm more than qualified—"

"Mulder," Scully growled through gritted teeth.

It was all he had to hear to shut him up, though he had plenty more to say to the disbelieving doctor. It wasn't that he minded someone challenging him. Scully did it all the time. Then again, it was Scully. She could challenge him, push him, question him and pretty much do whatever else she damn well pleased to him, and he would take it, enjoy it and come back for more. Still, it really wasn't the challenge he hated, it was Dr. Perfect himself. Sure, it was unfair and had nothing to do with anything but Scully, and yet he couldn't help himself.

"Look, uh, let's drop the why for now and discuss something more productive," Mulder suggested. "Do either of you have any way to help us figure out how the phone calls were made?"

"Hang on a tick," Meredith asked. "You're asking for our help in your investigation?"

"Are you refusing?" Scully asked.

"On the contrary, I'd love to help," Meredith said through an excited smile then glanced at Nathan who was quiet, but brooding. "We both would, right?"

"Of course, but I think what Meredith was getting at is… we're not suspects?"

"No," Scully said with a glance at Mulder who nodded in agreement. "No. Of course, not."

"Because from what you've said, the FBI certainly suspected us of something," Nathan noted suspiciously.

"That was because they didn't understand the 'unusual nature,' as you called it, of this case," Scully explained. She gave him her best reassuring smile.

"Right, so…" Meredith said glancing between Scully and Nathan, "Does that mean we're FBI consultants now?"

"Well, it's not exactly a paid gig," Mulder replied.

"Don't much care about that. This is just so exciting," Meredith said with a near giggle as she grabbed Nathan's arm and leaned against him. "We get to help solve a real FBI case."

Nathan smiled sweetly at his pretty partner, but it was _her_ touch that revealed everything to Mulder he'd missed between the two of them before. Her contact somehow had the ability to chink Dr. Perfect's otherwise sturdy armor, and for just a moment, Mulder caught a glimpse of his true feelings toward his partner. Then, like a light switch flicked off when the last person has left a room, it was all gone and his wall was re-erected.

Nathan's ability to hide his love was so nearly flawless that Mulder wondered if he should take notes. Then again, maybe Nathan wasn't in love with Meredith just yet. Perhaps, in fact, he had no feelings for her at all… it was just the possibility Mulder had glimpsed. Meredith had a chance, just as he had a chance, but without action, the opportunity would lay dormant. This line of thought gave Mulder an idea.

"What if they got better because the chance for love in this life has disappeared?" Mulder asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"What's he talking about?" Nathan asked Scully.

"He's saying that since the objects of their affection died, their souls no longer have another half for which to long," Meredith summarized. "They missed the chance in this life, but—"

"There's always next time," Mulder finished. "Exactly."

"I'm not sure I follow," Nathan admitted.

"Me either," Scully concurred. "Mulder, before you said that if one died, the other wouldn't be far behind. Now you're saying one can go on without the other?"

"I didn't say it would be a pleasant existence. You yourself commented on the despondency of the Father," Mulder reminded her.

"I'm sorry, but I have to admit I don't believe any of this," Nathan commented. "Soul mates? It's as preposterous to me as, say, making a decision based on a horoscope."

"Mm hmm. I see. You must be a Taurus," Mulder said off-handedly.

Meredith laughed. "He really is. What's your sign, Mulder?"

"Oh, me? I'm a Libra."

"I don't mean to interrupt this fascinating astrological profiling session," Scully interrupted, "but could we focus on the case?"

"Thank you," Nathan backed her up.

"Fine. We have a lot of notes to compare with you guys," Mulder said, "but, first, there's someone we'd like Chuck Carmichael to meet…"


	44. Courtly Love?

**Author's Note:** Thank you, thank you, thank you for continuing to read. Thanks to IAmLoisLane, my beta reader. Reviews are awesome :)

* * *

Mulder, Scully and their doctor counterparts stood before the observation window of the large patient bay. They watched in anticipatory silence as Sarah Burton walked to Chuck Carmichael's bed. The drug he'd been given to help him regain consciousness seemed to take effect the moment Sarah reached his bedside.

Chuck sat himself up and looked at his supposed soul mate with the most affectionate of smiles. She pulled over a chair and sat down, wearing an equally adoring grin. They sat silently for several moments without breaking eye contact until Sarah finally leaned forward and took Chuck's hand. They stayed like this as they began a quiet, intimate conversation that seemed as though it could and would go on forever.

"Funny," Meredith whispered. "I expected something a little more dramatic."

"Like what?" Nathan asked her.

"I dunno." she replied and continued to stare at Sarah and Chuck.

Mulder glanced at Scully. "We were thinking little cartoon hearts or—"

"Sparks," Scully finished, keeping her eyes on Mulder as she considered how many years it took for the sparks between the two of them to become tangible. Or perhaps they had always been there, but she'd been too grounded to feel their shock.

"Fireworks," Meredith threw in. "I think I was expecting fireworks."

"I guess those are our own personal variations on what we all think'll happen when we meet 'the one,'" Mulder said.

"Not _all_ of us," Nathan threw in.

"You don't believe in finding that _one_, great love?" Mulder asked him with a small glance toward Scully.

"Don't put words in my mouth," answered Nathan in a composed tone, "I believe in love, and I certainly believe a person could have one love that's a little deeper, a little richer, a little _more_ than any other. I just don't think it has to hit you like a ton of bricks. Love is not instant; it's something that grows."

Scully smiled to herself. One love that's more than any other. For such a sensible man of science, Nathan could certainly seamlessly sum up something Scully found nearly inexpressible and entirely ephemeral.

"That's a pretty romantic notion for a medicine man like yourself," Mulder told Nathan.

Nathan simply shrugged and looked back through the window.

"Speaking of romance," Meredith said, "is she going to pash him or what?"

"Pash?" Mulder asked.

"Snog. Kiss. Whatever you people call it here," Meredith said with a chuckle.

Scully bit her lower lip, killing off any chance of a smile escaping to her lips. She didn't want to give away that the same question had just entered her own scientific mind a moment before.

"They just met," Nathan said wisely.

"Even so," Meredith argued, "if they're so passionately in love, I don't see how holding hands fulfills anything for them."

"Are you suggesting they _aren't_ in love? That this is some sort of con?" Scully asked.

"I think she's just saying she wants to see the happy ending," Mulder suggested.

"What's this before us, if not a 'happy ending?'" Scully wanted to know. "They're here. They're together."

"They're both still alive," Nathan added.

"Oh, don't be a dag," Meredith scolded, her Australian slang biting hard

"Is that how it works?" Mulder asked Nathan. "You and Agent Scully are both breathing so you're suddenly made for each other?"

"Mulder," Scully warned.

"I'm just saying, Scully… you can love someone bigger, deeper… more… but if you never seal the deal, what's the point? You're not really together if you're not _together_, are you?"

Scully turned to him, folding her arms and squaring off. "What about love that's pure, but unrequited. Haven't you ever heard of courtly love, Mulder?"

Mulder chuckled. Boy, had he. "Yeah, I have, and it amounts to living one's life in a constant state of desire. That can't be healthy. Can it, doc?" Mulder looked to Nathan for some male solidarity.

"Technically speaking, consummation is often thought to be one of the stages of 'courtly love,'" Nathan told him. "But 'courtly love' is merely a literary construct. It is highly doubted that such a thing was actually practiced in medieval times."

Mulder rolled his eyes. Maybe this guy also had a PhD in English with a focus in Chivalric Romance.

"I'd like to think it possible," Scully said as she attempted to sound more rational than wistful. "You could love someone, I think, without physicality."

"Look, Scully, love isn't just a notion nor is it some scientific theory. It's a real, palpable thing. It's something you have to feel," he explained emphatically as he patted the area of his chest over his heart. "But it's also something you have to _feel_."

When Mulder reached out and put his hands down on her shoulders with the gentlest of squeezes, Scully _felt_ it, all right. From her head to her toes, in each frazzled nerve, down deep into every skeptical bone in her typically disbelieving body—she felt it, she felt him, she felt… love.

Mulder stared down at Scully and, in that moment, he forgot where they were and why. He forgot the case, all cases. There were no X-Files. His sister Samantha was as far from his mind as the alien ship that had taken her away. At this time, in this second, there was only Scully.

She nearly confessed to him right then, right there. She didn't care if Nathan or Meredith heard what she had to say. She didn't care if they saw the kiss she needed to steal. Mulder was right. Love was more than an emotion; love was a need—a physical need that demanded acquiescence.

"Oh! Look, they're finally going to kiss!" Meredith exclaimed.

This snapped Mulder and Scully back to the reality of the case, the hospital and the audience… and then to Sarah and Chuck. Behind the glass Chuck leaned out of the bed, his lips finding Sarah's so easily it did not seem like the awkward first kiss it should have been. The four observers held their collective breath as the alleged soul mates parted then went back to their conversation.

"That was a touch anti-climactic," Mulder observed.

"Just because it didn't blow our world away," Meredith reminded him, "doesn't mean it didn't theirs."

Mulder and Scully glanced at one another. Their world hadn't exactly been blown away either, but the winds had certainly shifted.


	45. QED?

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay. I've been out of town and will be back out of town again soon. I'll still be writing and updating, but it may be a bit more sporadic. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for being beta-riffic. Thanks to all of those of you who take time to read... and especially to those of you who comment or send messages. Feedback rocks my socks :)

* * *

"You don't really believe that these people are 'soul mates,' do you, Dana?" Nathan asked as he and Scully rode the elevator down on the coffee run for which he'd volunteered them.

"No," Scully answered automatically. "Though I must admit I don't have a medically sound alternative to offer."

"Me either," Nathan said, sounding as stumped as Scully felt.

When they got off the elevator, Nathan led Scully toward a large vending room where tables and chairs offered a place for worried relatives to rest and… enjoy their snacks. Scully nodded to a small table with a pair of chairs. They took seats across from one another.

"What if," Scully suggested, "rather than searching for some plausible solution, we assume they _are_ soul mates then work backwards toward the medicine—down to the science—to see if anything opposing jumps out at us."

"A proof—or disproof, in this case—by contradiction," Nathan followed along. "Not a bad idea."

Scully smiled, suddenly feeling a bit bashful around this wholly handsome doctor with whom she could, by all counts, have a successful and healthy relationship.

"Okay," Nathan began. "We assume all these pairs of people are soul mates. If they're soul mates then…."

"If they're soul mates, it is their destiny to seek one another for eternity until their souls are finally united," stated Scully with feigned staidness. "In these particular cases, the pairs met one another, but were kept apart in some way. By physical distance as was the case with the Woodcombs, moral conviction as with Father O'Shea and his altar boy and, also, Henry Aaron and his chemistry teacher… or simply inability to make contact as with Sarah Burton and Chuck Carmichael."

"When souls are kept apart, the bodies housing them start to break down," deduced Nathan, playing along. "Hence, the physical ailments of my patients."

"And the physical symptoms only subside when—wait," Scully paused, a thought occurring to her.

"What?" Nathan asked with a curious arched eyebrow.

"You basically said their bodies started to get sick when their souls were denied the chance to be with their… perfect other… right?"

"Yes," Nathan agreed. "That's what I said, though you know I don't believe it."

"Of course, but assuming it were true, why would only the men get sick? Why would this _only_ affect males?"

Nathan tilted his head. "You're suggesting a sex-linked disorder of some sort?"

Scully shrugged, but nodded. "What do you think?"

"If being soul mates under the influence of unrequited love caused this illness, both parties should be affected. There's our contradiction," Nathan said with a smile.

"QED," Scully concurred. "And not a bad place to start looking for a cure."

"Except… what about Father O'Shea's altar _boy_?"

"Sex is a phenotype, not a genotype," Scully reminded him. "Maybe the altar boy was chromosomally XX, making it less likely that he would show symptoms of this disorder."

"That's entirely possible, I suppose."

"Besides, we aren't saying that _all_ males are affected by this. Or are we?" Scully asked.

"I'm not even sure _what_ we're saying is affecting them."

"A potentially sex-linked disordered that triggers the observed syphilis-like symptoms," Scully began then scowled. "But what triggers the disorder?"

"Something with these women. A pheromone response maybe? Though that's a stretch for me. I'd need to see more research on human pheromones before I'd buy that they could create such an effect in these men."

"I believe, if pheromones were involved, it would more likely be the other way around," Scully stated. "It's typically thought that women are more receptive to pheromones."

"Okay, then what else could trigger the response?" Nathan asked.

"Love," came Mulder's voice as he entered the room with Meredith in tow.

Scully and Nathan looked up as the pair pulled over chairs, each sitting next to their own partner.

"We knew you two logic-heads just wanted to sneak out to discuss this without us," Mulder said with good-enough-humor so as not to ruffle any feathers.

"We're hypothesizing that since only males were affected," Scully explained, "whatever caused the illness in the patients may be sex-linked."

"Sounds kinky," Mulder joked.

"Are you always so glib in the face of tragedy?" Nathan asked him.

"What tragedy?" asked Mulder. "Things are improving by the minute. We found the cure for which you've been searching. In fact, while you took my partner on the slowest 'coffee run' in history, _your_ partner and I made a few calls and have some lovely ladies headed this way who are going to get the rest of those men out of bed."

"Or into bed, as the case may be," Meredith joked. "We also stopped by security to review the footage of the hallway outside our offices. Each night, for the past three nights, a new man got out of bed and went into one of our offices."

"So, no psychic phone calls," Scully deduced.

"Not so fast, Scully," Mulder said with a mischievous smile. "When we asked Chuck how he knew what number to call, guess what he said?"

"He… just… knew," Scully guessed with certainty.

Mulder nodded. "How 'bout that, huh? Plus, they got up while sedated. Chuck says he can't even remember walking from the bed to the phone."

"But he remembers making the call," Meredith added.

"That's impossible," Nathan argued.

"I keep telling you, Nathan, just because something surprises you, that doesn't mean it's impossible," Meredith said gently.

"And just because you believe it, that doesn't mean it's not," he retorted.

"Why are you so afraid to believe?" Meredith asked him.

"Dammit, Mer, you're a medical doctor."

"I'm a medical doctor who treats the _whole_ patient. Body, mind _and_ soul."

"That's great," Nathan commented playfully. "Maybe you could start doing Tarot readings with your physicals."

Meredith glared at him for a moment before she broke into a grin. "Oh, rack off, will ya?"

Nathan beamed back at her, their argument spontaneously dissolved.

Scully glanced at Mulder who responded with a smile and a wink. "I swear, Scully, it's like looking in a mirror."

Nathan and Meredith looked at one another then back at Scully and Mulder.

"Don't know why he bothers with the Skeptical Sam routine. I'm always right," Meredith said as she nudged Nathan with her elbow.

"Just because I can't disprove something, that doesn't mean you're right," Nathan ribbed her back.

Scully gave Mulder a nod of agreement.

"Can't you just open your mind to an extreme possibility? Just once?" Meredith asked.

It was Mulder's turn to give his approving look to Scully. Couldn't _she_ open _her_ mind? Just this once.

"Fine," Scully answered Mulder's silent question. "Let's ignore the medicine for a moment, shall we?"

"Really? Is it… is today Christmas, and I didn't know it?" Mulder joked.

Scully disregarded the query. "Your plan is to cure the men by bringing in their soul mates."

"Yeah?" Mulder asked, already seeing that Scully had some sort of "but" coming.

"But aren't they married?" Scully supplied.

"Beau Ford of New Orleans filed for divorce a week before he got sick," Mulder told her. "He's a mailman, and Savannah Stevens, his high school sweetheart, moved onto his route. They reconnected and—"

"Shouldn't he have been sick for years?" Nathan asked. "According to your theory."

"Don't over-think it," Mulder replied with a chuckle.

"Actually, we've got it figured," Meredith explained. "Deep down, he was always waiting for her. He never felt as though he couldn't be with her. The only barrier between them was time, and Mr. Ford is a very patient man."

Mulder nodded. "It wasn't until he filed for divorce, when his wife threatened to use this against him as grounds to get full custody of their five-year-old son, that his path was blocked. That's when he got sick."

"Okay. And what are you going to do about Jim Mason?" inquired Nathan.

"Oh, the Canadian in love with his co-worker?" Mulder asked.

"Leah Conners," Meredith provided.

"He's married," Nathan reminded them. "Who's going to inform his wife that we're proposing some other woman is his soul mate and will cure him of this illness?"

Meredith and Mulder glanced at one another before Mulder shrugged and said, "Not sure about that one, but we came looking for you two before we talked to Mr. Mason in depth. Maybe his interview will provide an answer."

"And what are you going to do for Henry?" Scully wanted to know.

Mulder and Meredith again glanced at one another, both frowning.

"No idea," Mulder replied sadly. "Katrina Weiss loves him as much as he loves her, but her morals are holding her back."

"Or keeping her appropriately away," Scully suggested.

"Yeah, as much as it's every school boy's fantasy," Meredith agreed, "there's no way we can encourage that relationship. We can't invite her here."

"I don't think she'd come anyway," Mulder replied.

"In that case," Nathan interjected, "will everyone finally agree that we need to focus on the science? For Henry?"

As much as Mulder didn't want to admit it, Dr. Perfect made a good point. They would need to seek some other solution for Henry. Mulder also _really_ hated to concede that, all around, it wasn't nearly as easy to dislike Nathan as it had been before. His skepticism should have been bothersome, but he was so similar to Scully that Mulder had to like the guy… at least a little. It also didn't hurt that his well of feelings for Meredith went deep. It created a sympathetic sort of camaraderie for Mulder.

"Fine. I think you're right," Mulder admitted to Nathan.

"Mulder, what are you playing at?" Scully asked with suspiciously narrowed eyes.

"I'm wondering the same," Meredith agreed.

"Two out of three doctors don't want to follow the science? That's strange," Mulder teased.

"No," Scully corrected. "_One_ out of three doctors just happens to know you well enough to know you're up to something."

"If I argue with you, you're skeptical of my opinion. If I agree with you, you're skeptical of—"

"The act itself. That's right," Scully finished.

"Like looking in a mirror," Meredith said to Nathan who smiled at her.

A second passed before Mulder looked around the table. "So… three out of three doctors up for an all-night science project?"


	46. TLG?

**Author's Note: **So I'm on vacation, but I've still been finding some time to write at night. Hopefully the next update won't take TOO long. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for her beta-metrics. And thanks to everyone who reads. Also, reviews are like Mulder's arm around Scully. Just throwing it out there :)

* * *

Hours later, Mulder paced the hallway outside Nathan's lab as he chewed on a coffee stirrer. A large window gave a view of the doctors, Scully included, as they ran tests, examined monitors and collaborated on science that Mulder, truth be told, trusted only slightly. Still, a traditional medical approach would probably be the best hope for Henry so he didn't complain and tried to stay out of their way, occupying the time in ways he deemed useful.

He wanted to speak with Jim Mason, the Canadian, but he felt like he needed Scully with him for that because, frankly, he knew he would end up encouraging the guy to leave his wife for his business associate, Leah Conners. Scully would temper him appropriately. Who the hell kept him in line before she did? He considered it seriously. Before Scully, he was arrogant and self-righteous. Protocol, the FBI and common sense be damned. If he was being honest, those personality traits and that attitude were still present… only now he was accountable to Scully. He was still selfish, single-minded and occasionally reckless, but he also cared about how Scully would react to his behavior. And if he forgot to consider his partner or her viewpoint, she was right there, in his face, reminding him. Speaking to Jim Mason without her would probably elicit this response… so he found other things to do.

He first called in an update to Skinner who seemed surprised, but pleased, to hear the current, medically-motivated status of the case. He also expressed concern regarding the agents' heavy travel and lack of rest. Mulder assured him they were still on top of their game as he watched Scully yawn through an inspection of a folder of test results Meredith had passed her.

Mulder also phoned the Lone Gunmen who claimed to have "just the thing" to help, but Mulder wasn't holding his breath. Besides, he didn't call to get their expert advice anyway; he'd just wanted to taunt them with his date and time spent with Meredith Foster. Byers simply chuckled and called him a "lucky man." Langly said about the same, but used the word "dude" instead. Frohike, on the other hand, threatened to kick his ass if he broke her heart.

"And twice if you break Scully's," Frohike added.

"Scully?" Mulder questioned, faking his innocence. "Who said anything about Scully?"

"Don't be a tool; you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I really don't," Mulder lied.

"Let it be," Byers chimed in.

"Yeah, it's not the time," Langly agreed.

"Time for what, fellas?" Mulder asked. He could use a little outside insight into his relationship with Scully. What did his favorite conspiracy trio have to say?

"Frohike's just deluded himself into thinking you're the only thing standing between him and his favorite federally-employed redhead," Langly explained. "No matter how many times we tell him the real obstacle there… is his face."

"You long-haired loser, I'm going to pop you a good one in the kisser—a complete misnomer for a celibate geek like you."

"Play nice, boys." Mulder interjected.

"Sorry about them," Byers apologized as Langly and Frohike argued on in the background. "We've all just been speculating that you and Agent Scully have finally reached that point where either something's going to happen… or nothing ever will."

"Something? Something's going to… happen?"

"Or not," Byers corrected.

"I'm confused," Mulder fibbed again. "What are you talking about?"

"Love, of course," Byers answered wistfully. "We've determined that, for a workplace romance, five years is about the maximum amount of time that can pass without a complete loss of potential."

"Agent Scully and I have been working together for nearly six," Mulder told him, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Exactly. Frohike claims he's in the clear. Langly, well, he disagrees."

"Why?" Mulder asked. Funny how easy it was to ask these questions of his old friend without having to over-explain his motivation.

"Because he thinks you're already in love."

"He thinks I'm in love with Scully?" Mulder tried to use his surprise over the discovery of Langly's conclusion to simulate shock about the entire statement.

"He thinks," Byers told him with a smile that Mulder could hear, "that you're in love with each other."

Mulder smiled. That was pleasant news. "Tell him he's nuts. I've got to go."

"Goodbye, Mulder," Byers bid him.

In a way, it surprised Mulder to know that the Gunmen had even given so much thought to his relationship with Scully. They'd debated it, formed theories. Then again, they always made it their job to butt in where they shouldn't. In that respect, this was no different. And he certainly wasn't displeased with their conclusion.

Mulder forced himself away from those thoughts because he figured it was time for him to focus on work again… except the only piece of work that kept entering his mind… was Scully.

As if on cue, his beautiful-even-when-weary partner exited the lab and approached Mulder. She wore an expression that he interpreted as exhausted frustration as she made her way to the wall where he leaned. He didn't speak because he knew she had no good news to share.

Scully matched his posture, standing close to him. She was exhausted and frustrated. They'd made absolutely no progress, but she didn't have to tell Mulder that; he'd undoubtedly deduced it already. She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

Mulder glanced down at her. Before he gave himself the chance to over-analyze it, he moved his arm around her shoulder and pulled her gently into his side. He felt her stiffen a moment under the uninvited contact, but she quickly relaxed and didn't voice any complaints as they stood silently. He rubbed a soothing hand up and down from her shoulder to her elbow as he felt her take a deep, calm breath next to him.

Scully was a little surprised to feel his arm wrap around her. Normally, she would feign indignation and squirm away, but she was weary enough to indulge in the cozy contact. As she leaned her head against his side, Scully thought it was ridiculous how completely comfortable this was. Then again, didn't she often syphon her strength from him? Particularly, in moments when she was tired or weak or lost, she looked to Mulder for reinvigoration or reinforcement or redirection. He was her rock, and that scared the hell out of her.

"I'll take you home," Mulder said softly.

"Mulder, I'm fine," she defended, straightening up under his grip.

He dropped his arm and turned to face her with a skeptical smile. "Scully."

"Mulder," she mimicked back. "Have you even interviewed Jim Mason yet?"

Mulder shook his head. "I was waiting for you."

"Why?"

"Because I think Jim Mason should follow his heart."

Scully groaned. "Mulder, everyone can't be as irresponsible and self-regarding as you are."

The sharp insult didn't even give him a flesh wound. Mulder bit his lip as he smiled at her. "This is why I was waiting for you."

"He's married… to someone he obviously thought he loved at some point."

"Maybe."

"And we don't even know what his job situation is. Not everyone can just enter into a relationship with a co-worker and stay employed."

"Who cares, Scully? Who cares about a job when you compare it to love?"

"Mulder, really? Who cares about a job? Would _you_ just give up _your_ job because you met Ms. Right?"

"Well, actually—"

"Take Nathan and Meredith. They're obviously in love with one another."

Mulder tilted his chin down. So… she knew.

"Don't look at me like that; I know you spotted it immediately."

"Not _immediately_," he corrected her honestly.

"But their professional relationship is just far too important to both of them."

"You think that's what's holding them back?" Mulder asked with interest. "Their 'professional relationship?'"

"I think it's a huge factor, yes. Why? What's your theory?"

"Easy. They're afraid."

Scully stared at him for a brief moment; his explanation hit much too close to home. "Let's go talk to Jim Mason before we get any further off track."

Mulder agreed, though he had to admit that since this case started, he hadn't really even been anywhere near the rails.


	47. Too Normal?

**Author's Note: **Sorry it's been awhile. I may have been writing some of the ending chapters. Don't worry, I won't give you any spoilers. Thanks to my beta IAmLoisLane for all the great... beta-ing :) And thanks to all you guys for sticking with this for so long... or for finding it and making it all the way here. You are awesome :)

* * *

Jim Mason had been taken off sedatives and had been conscious for several hours. Meredith and Nathan had examined him and found his condition to be stable, but without improvement—except that since Meredith and Mulder had spoken briefly with him about bringing Leah Conners down for a visit, he'd not had a single outburst. In fact, he'd been sitting quietly and patiently, watching an infomercial for Japanese steak knives. He greeted Mulder and Scully with equal calmness and maintained an even temperament throughout their interview.

"Mr. Mason, you work at an office supply shipping company in Vancouver?" Mulder confirmed. He stood on one side of the twenty-nine-year-old Canadian's hospital bed while Scully stood on the other.

"Right. I'm a salesman," Jim corroborated.

"And Leah Conners—"

"She's the receptionist. They hired her a few months back," Jim cut in.

"And you're in love with this woman?" Mulder asked as if requesting the man's height or shoe size.

Jim sighed and looked off. "My wife has been cheating on me for six months. She doesn't even know I know about it. She met the guy online."

"Then they met in person?" Mulder questioned.

Jim shrugged. "I don't think they'd met by the time I got sick. He's from the States. Maryland, I think. That's nearby, right?"

Scully and Mulder glanced at one another.

"Who knows? She could be with him right now," Jim said. "But I guess you're here to find out about my illness not my rocky marriage, right?"

"Were you looking for revenge?" Scully asked him. "Did you seek out a woman for that purpose?"

"On the contrary, I couldn't believe I was such a hypocrite. It was exactly that reason that kept me from… you know, making a move on Leah. I wasn't going to be the one to break first."

"Out of you and your wife, you mean?" Mulder inquired.

Jim nodded.

"You wanted a clear conscience," concluded Scully.

"I guess you could put it like that," Jim agreed. "I just never saw myself as the guy who leaves his wife for another woman. Even now, even with my wife cheating on me, I'm struggling to justify my potential course of action."

"You're not worried about your job at all?" Mulder wondered.

Jim shrugged. "More worried about breaking my wedding vows."

Mulder looked across at Scully.

"But, you know," Jim continued, looking from Mulder to Scully and back, "my job isn't particularly my passion. Maybe it'd be different if it were."

Scully's eyes met Mulder as they each considered that particular point-of-view.

"And you're okay with us bringing Leah Conners here?" asked Scully.

"If you guys think it might cure me."

"Have you had any desire to contact Ms. Conners… say by a telephone call?" Mulder tossed out the question casually.

"Uh… sure, I'd say I had impulses like that, I guess. It's strange; I've had those fits where I screamed for Leah, really wanted her to be with me… but now that we're talking so rationally, I don't feel the same urgency. I feel… I can't describe it exactly… I guess I feel at peace with everything. I know my wife is gone. I know I love Leah. And I feel a certain inevitability about the whole thing."

"You know you'll be with her," Mulder stated.

"I absolutely know it," Jim affirmed as his eyes drifted back to the muted television.

"Thank you, Mr. Mason. For your time and your cooperation," Mulder said as he nodded toward the door. Scully took the hint and followed Mulder from the room.

"Seems like everyone we've met on this case has been so damn morally-minded, Scully," Mulder commented once he and Scully had made their way out into the hall.

"Everyone except Devon Woodcomb," Scully pointed out.

"Even he somehow managed to let go of his soul mate… to help her get sober."

"I suppose that's true," Scully agreed. "But, then, I guess most people do the right thing, Mulder. It's just those aren't usually the people we run into on the job."

"Exactly. These are just normal people," Mulder said as he pulled a few sunflower seeds out his suit coat pocket and popped them in his mouth. "A little too normal."

"Are you saying this isn't an x-file?" Scully questioned.

"Not at all," Mulder insisted. "No, I'm saying these are regular people who all somehow ran into their soul mates. It actually seems… a little too contrived… a little too… planned."

"You're saying someone set all this up? How is that even possible?" Scully knew it was pointless to ask when she saw the distant look in his eyes as he pulled two empty seed hulls from his mouth. His thoughts were already a million miles ahead of hers, and it was going to take a while to catch up.

"You and Dr. Perfect get back to work. I need Meredith," Mulder suddenly demanded.

Scully folded her arms and nodded. She tried to fight off the possessiveness that pecked subtly at the back of her brain. He needed Meredith. Meredith was open-minded. Meredith thought like he did. Meredith was sexy and leggy and blonde and exotic. Talk about Dr. Perfect.

Had Mulder noticed her scowl or momentary hesitation, he may have deployed some counter-jealousy missiles to strike down her uncertainty, but the synapses were already firing too rapidly inside his head to notice any outside hazards. For the first time in a long time, he'd filtered out the distraction that was his partner and was focused on the x-file.

Scully walked away from Mulder and found Meredith with Nathan in their lab. When Meredith was gone, Nathan rolled his chair over to Scully.

"It's been a long night, huh?" he asked amicably.

It had been a long couple of days, but Scully only nodded yes.

"What did Fox want with Meredith?"

Scully tried not to visibly cringe at the use of Mulder's first name. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. "He really didn't say."

"You know, I thought they'd be good together because they're so alike, but now I'm starting to wonder if that relationship contains a little too much of a good thing."

"I wouldn't really call it a relationship," Scully said dismissively.

"And… what about this?" he asked, taking his hand in hers. She let her fingers intertwine with his and relished in the affectionate warmth. "What would you call _this_?"

Scully sighed and nodded in acknowledgment of his question. She placed her other hand atop his and spoke gently. "Maybe… too much of a good thing?"

Nathan chuckled lightly and moved his free hand to cup Scully's face. "Maybe too much of a really, _really_ good thing."

Scully sighed, but smiled. The loss of what could have been was bittersweet to her in that moment, but everything about the dissolution of the relationship-that-never-was felt completely right… until Meredith stumbled into the doorway, causing Nathan and Scully to break contact and roll their chairs apart awkwardly.

"Sorry. Just need to grab my phone. Agent Mulder asked me to get my phone," Meredith muttered as she opened a locker and pulled her phone from the shelf. "Be going now."

Meredith shuffled out of the room. Scully and Nathan glanced at one another and moved back in position to work. Silence hung comfortably between them in the now clear air.

When Meredith returned with her cell phone, Mulder dragged her into an isolated waiting room. He was about to speak when he noticed the look on her face.

"You okay?"

Meredith nodded with no conviction. Mulder stepped up to her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. No. I mean, I should get used to it, right? Seeing them together like that."

"Who?"

"Nathan and—" Meredith paused and pursed her lips.

"And Scully?" Mulder asked, his eyes widening.

"You should get used to it, too… apparently," Meredith said as she took in his face.

Mulder narrowed his eyes. Had Scully not implied that she was no longer romantically interested in Nathan? For a brief moment, he fantasized bursting into the lab, smashing his fist into Nathan's face and pulling Scully into his arms for a testosterone-frenzied kiss. Fortunately, he quickly decided against living out his very own action movie sequence and opted for compartmentalized jealousy instead.

"I need you to get Ansel Holmes down here," Mulder said and nodded toward her cell phone.

"What?" Meredith asked, confused by the subject-change.

"I think he's the key to this whole thing," Mulder told her. "Will you please just call him?"

"It's the middle of the night. He's probably asleep," Meredith told him as she dialed then raised her eyebrows in surprise as he picked up. "Oh, Ansel? It's Meredith Foster. How ya going? Did I wake you? I see, well good then. Look, I know this is going to sound a little wonky, but would you mind coming over to the hospital? No, it's not us; Agent Mulder—You will? Okay. Sure, right. Rock up when you can."

"He's coming?" Mulder asked.

Meredith shrugged. "So he said. Now… mind telling me what the hell you're thinking?"

"You know how Ansel Holmes likes to play match-maker?"

"Little too well, yeah," Meredith answered.

"I think it goes _way_ beyond that."


	48. Meredith & Nathan?

**Author's Note**: I know, I know. A quick update. An x-file in and of itself? Thanks to IAmLoisLane for her betarifficness. Thanks to you guys for reading. As we move into the semi-reveal, please let me know if anything confuses you, and I'll try to clear it up :)

* * *

Scully was alone in Nathan's office, searching medical databases and the Internet for any other infected patients inside or outside the United States. She didn't exactly know what Mulder was getting at before—or what he had cooking with Meredith—but if this was some sort of elaborate setup, it would stand to reason that her search would yield no results, that everyone involved was already present and accounted for. One way to prove him wrong would be to find someone. Thus far, she hadn't.

"Good evening," came Ansel Holmes' voice from the doorway.

Scully looked up to meet eyes with the stranger.

"You must be Agent Scully."

Confused, Scully looked around behind him, but found him to be as alone as she was. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Ansel Holmes. It's nice to finally meet you."

Scully took her hands away from the keyboard and stared at Mulder's "geriatric penguin." He wasn't wearing a tuxedo—he had on olive green khakis and a gray wool cardigan—but she could picture it, and she smiled. Then she remembered that this man was the one responsible for drugging her. She was instantly less amused.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?" she asked coldly.

"Well, there _is_ something, but I hope I can help you first. Shed a little light perhaps. I'm assuming that's why Agent Mulder called me down here."

"Agent Mulder contacted you?"

"Via Meredith."

"I see," Scully said, pushing herself away from Nathan's desk. "What do you say we go find both of them?"

Holmes took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Nathan's desk. "I'd rather talk to you for a few minutes, if that's okay."

"I'm not sure it is."

Holmes ignored her and pressed on. "I'm very interested—involved really—in this case."

"You're involved?" Scully asked.

"When it comes to love and soul mates and such, I'm always... entangled. Can't help it really.

"This is a medical case," Scully replied evenly. "It has nothing to do with soul mates because there is no such thing. And love? It's nothing more than biology."

Holmes looked at her, a twinkle in his eye. "Now, you don't _really_ believe either of those things, do you?"

"Excuse me?" Scully asked in a tone from which only Mulder would know to run.

"You believe," Holmes clarified. "You believe in soul mates just as you believe in love."

"I'm a doctor and a scientist. And Nathan and I, at least, are treating this as a medical endeavor, a scientific inquiry. Now, if you don't mind—"

"Actually, I do. I have a confession that I think you need to hear before you continue this… scientific inquiry."

"Why don't you let me get Mulder?" Scully asked as she stood up out of her seat. She was starting to have suspicions about Ansel Holmes' soundness of mind, and Mulder always had a certain knack for dealing with lunatics… not to mention the surprisingly extensive patience that always seemed to put them at ease.

"No," Holmes countered forcefully enough to sit her back down. "I only want to speak to you right now."

"Why?" Scully demanded.

"Because I believe that _you_ believe much more than you let on. I believe you not only believe in soul mates, but have finally realized yours has been right under your nose for quite some time. I know you're still in denial, but not as much as you're pretending to be… which is why I'd like to talk with you."

Scully was shocked, to say the least. This man didn't even know her, yet there he was offering some psychotic pseudo-psychoanalysis. Even more irritating? He was probably right. "Look, Mr. Holmes—"

"Agent Scully, the first thing you should know is that 'Ansel Holmes' is just who I am… right now… to serve my purposes here."

Scully stared at him. What the hell was he trying to tell her? That he changed his identity so he could go around drugging whomever he wanted. "Whoever you are… I'm not exactly a huge fan so—"

"Soul reunification. It's a beautiful thing. But I don't have to tell you that. You've seen it yourself… with Sarah Burton and Chuck Carmichael today. And you feel it with Agent Mulder, too."

"Um, Mr. Holmes," Scully asked gently, "do you reside in this hospital?"

Holmes chuckled. "In the mental ward, you're insinuating? Because you think what I'm saying sounds insane?"

Scully nodded. "Completely."

"That's the kind of thing you'd say to Agent Mulder, isn't it?"

"Did he send you in here to—"

"But you believe him more often than you let on, don't you?" Holmes questioned with a smile.

Scully blinked a few times. "Who the hell are you?"

Holmes grinned. "Agent Scully, what I want to tell you must stay between us. Is that okay?"

"No."

"Okay, you can tell Agent Mulder, too. How about that?"

"I'm not agreeing to anything."

"Fine. I'll tell you anyway. I'm sure you won't tell the wrong person."

"Is that a threat?" Scully demanded.

"No, not at all. I'm just confident that I'm right. "

Scully crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. "Fine. Talk."

"I have a unique gift. I don't know how I got it or why. I don't know who gave it to me, and I have no idea what its purpose is."

"Uh huh," Scully replied dismissively.

"I match souls."

Scully did not react.

"I think I'm the only one. I wish I wasn't because it's a difficult job."

"I'm sorry, I'm confused. How is this a 'gift' or a 'job?'" Scully asked sneeringly.

"Because I help these seeking souls find their other halves. Without me, they might not ever find one another. I guide them. I set events in motion to lead them to one another. Some people might think of me as… fate."

"Some people might call you Cupid," Scully joked, "but they'd all be idiots."

"Cupid could turn anyone into a perfect match. I don't have that luxury."

Scully nodded. "Right. Because you're a man, not a god."

"Cupid was also susceptible to his own arrows. Are you familiar with the story of Cupid and Psyche?"

Scully thought a moment and tried to recall her Roman mythology. She knew Cupid was the son of Venus and Mars and that Psyche was his wife. "Venus wanted Cupid to get rid of Psyche for some reason, but he fell in love with her," Scully said, though she wasn't completely sure.

"Psyche was a human, a princess people loved so much they forgot all about Venus, Angered, Venus sent her son, Cupid, to force Psyche to fall in love with the most loathsome creature in he world," Holmes began.

"Right," Scully nodded, the story creeping out of the cobwebs covering her undergraduate education. "He accidentally nicked himself with his own arrow, right?"

"Sent to ruin someone… and inadvertently fell in love while on the job," Holmes said with a playful shake of his head. "Then, isn't that always how it goes?"

Scully stared at Ansel Holmes. She wanted to hate him for all the trouble he had caused her and for the smug little look he wore, but he was so damned likable that she actually wanted to spend more time talking to him. She could see why Mulder wasn't in a hurry to turn him in, and why Meredith, while maybe put off by the advances he'd made on her, didn't want to get rid of him either.

"So… we can at least agree that you're _not_ Cupid then?" Scully asked him.

"Definitely not Cupid. Not literally anyway. Maybe in spirit."

"As in reincarnation?" Scully asked sarcastically.

"No. Not sure I believe in that entirely."

"I'm surprised," Scully muttered.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm fairly certain souls get another chance, over and over, until they find their match, but once they find their counterpart, it's done."

"Done?"

"It's not as if the same souls are finding each other again and again—in each life—only to meet the same destiny as before. I mean, that could be a bit tragic, don't you think?"

"Maybe some people just have a tragic fortune," Scully played devil's advocate.

"That's an oxymoron, Agent Scully," Holmes said with a smile that made her wonder if he somehow knew she'd said something similar to Mulder earlier that day. Much, much earlier that day. Actually, it was after midnight, so it had been the day before. She began to wonder if Ansel Holmes wasn't a figure of her exhausted imagination. Maybe next, he would tell her that he had to run off to his weekly poker game with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

Holmes seemed to sense her wandering thoughts. "In my world, everyone gets a happy ending. At least that's how it has been."

Scully tilted her head. "I'm not sure I understand. You're telling me you're some sort matchmaker? That you help people find relationships?"

"No. I'm telling you that I help people find their soul mates… most often without their knowledge. In fact, this is the first time I've actually disclosed the truth about my ability toward that end… but it seems appropriate here."

"Funny. I was under the impression that the only soul you were after belongs to Dr. Foster, and that you weren't at all focused on what is appropriate in order to have it… to have her."

Holmes laughed jollily. "That's what they decided to tell you, is it? That I'm some geezer after Meredith?"

Scully chewed her lip as she studied this man. His incredulity was awfully convincing.

"You'll have to excuse me, but it's just the thought of me pursuing someone romantically… it's a foreign concept to me. I have absolutely no desire to be involved in any sort of relationship myself. There's just no need."

"Isn't it basic human nature to seek a caring, romantic relationship? Or are you saying you're some sort of playboy who doesn't give a damn about love?"

"Agent Scully, there is nothing more important to me than love," Holmes told her with sudden conviction. "It's just that I don't seek it personally. I don't need to. My soul is already complete."

Scully leaned back in her chair and arched an eyebrow.

"I can't explain how or why, but I slipped through the cracks. My soul was never broken. I've never been seeking. I'm already complete and whole all on my own."

Scully sighed. She wondered if this is what Mulder would be like in fifty years: Completely looney-tunes, but fun to converse with anyway. "Sounds a little egotistical, don't you think? You're the one and only person on the planet that doesn't need someone else to make them complete? I mean, honestly, I'm pretty self-sufficient myself. Does that mean I'm a soul matcher, too?"

Holmes chuckled. "You'd like it, I think. Sometimes it's easy. Proximity helps. Finding two souls in the same city makes it a piece of cake; you just search for a mutual friend or arrange a chance meeting on a train."

"Or in a grocery store," Scully said, thinking of Sarah Burton and Chuck Carmichael.

"Those two are great together, aren't they?" he questioned. "Sometimes the obstacles are a little larger, though. I rarely find those who continents divide, for example. And sometimes I don't even start in on those tied into marriages until I've found the match for both parties. It's only fair."

Scully thought of Jim Mason… of his wife and her Internet boyfriend in Maryland. Was Holmes aware of these situations? Was he playing off them purposefully?

"The hardest ones, though, Agent Scully, are those souls that are right there next to one another, but just can't seem to see each other. So much in between clouds their vision. It's not distance—not literal distance—but the divide sometimes feels so impenetrable. And, so, like you approach a case, I look at it scientifically. Cause and effect: if I do A, B will happen… followed by C and D, et cetera… until we finally reach Z. A series of events set into motion toward the inevitable goal: love."

Scully rocked back in the chair now, trying to process what this crazier-by-the-minute old man was trying to convey to her. "Why'd Mulder call you here?"

"Maybe he's onto me," Holmes said with a shrug.

"You're responsible for the condition of these patients? Is that what you're trying to tell me, Mr. Holmes? They're sick because they're soul mates?" Scully questioned.

Holmes sighed, sadness suddenly etched into his features. He hung his head. "I was hasty. I'd never kept people apart before. I didn't know what the full gamut of effects would be."

"Then how did you even know there would be negative effects at all?"

"Because of Devon and Ellie," Holmes said quietly, his eyes a little misty. "Most of the time, my role ends where the movie would end. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Not really. You're saying you lead people to a happy ending then walk away?"

"Exactly. But there are times—there are people—that need a little more support. In other words, souls can't help the people they become. Genetics, brain chemistry, childhood trauma. Devon was always going to be a work in progress."

"Did you try to break them up?"

Holmes laughed sadly. "You tried to walk away, Agent Scully. Was it that simple?"

"I tried to walk away from _what_?" Scully questioned.

"Your soul mate."

Scully's mind went immediately to Mulder's apartment, to his hallway, to his confession and the kiss they never shared. It certainly wasn't that simple. "I don't know what you're talking about—I thought this was about the Woodcombs."

Holmes nodded. "I never intentionally meant to keep them apart. I just meant to help them. Devon was able to stop using drugs on his own. He went to narcotics anonymous. I was his sponsor. I helped him get his wife into treatment. That's when he fell ill. At first, I didn't think it was related, but when he started calling for her all hours of the day and night—I knew the madness came from their separation."

"Or drug withdrawals," Scully offered logically.

"I tried it on some of the others, using other circumstances of my own making. They all exhibited the same symptoms. It was strange only one person from each pair got sick. I hypothesized it was the smaller half that was affected. For example, if you cut off a man's hand, it would be the hand, not the man, who would perish."

"Seems a little malicious for a person who thinks it's his job to match souls."

"That's just it. It was perfect because I knew the cure so there was no real harm being done," he argued then added softly, "At least, that's what I thought."

"You're saying you felt these people were soul mates so you took actions to keep them separated?" Scully asked. This was getting more ridiculous, if that was even possible, but Scully also felt sympathy for Holmes for some reason.

"Their connections were strong and they were in close proximity. I was lazy. I didn't realize that the stronger their affinity, the worse it would be. I had no idea. I deeply regret the deaths caused by this, and I take full responsibility. I cost four people the chance to have eternal true and pure happiness. It's inexcusable, and why I'm confessing to you now. I would like to help get all this cleaned up—and maybe work directly on the problem at-hand. "

"Which is what?" asked Scully. Why was she letting herself get sucked in?

"The whole reason I needed sick people with similar symptoms," Holmes answered.

Scully thought about it for a long moment before she said, "Meredith and Nathan."


	49. Cupid?

**Author's Note:** I would write something thoughtful, but I have to go see Harry Potter and I am terminally late. Thanks to the usual people. Reviews are like popcorn... and I LOVE popcorn.

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Scully exhaled and drummed a finger against the top of Nathan's desk. Nathan and Meredith. It was all starting to make sense in a completely absurd way. Holmes didn't want Meredith for himself; he wanted her for Nathan. Mulder knew, but had concealed this out of courtesy to Scully. Holmes was claiming that he somehow arranged this whole medical mystery to bring Nathan and Meredith together through all the extra hours and collaboration it would necessarily require. That Holmes actually controlled the outbreak of the symptoms was implausible in execution, but the sentiment behind it could have led Holmes to interfere in a variety of ways: the intended drugging of Meredith, the _un_drugging of the men and the mysterious phone calls. It was likely he had even been the one to suggest the idea of soul mates to Meredith.

"You can feel it between them, too, can't you? It's like being between two magnets," Holmes observed.

Scully agreed with his assessment, but didn't say so.

"It's the strongest connection I've ever felt," Holmes told her then tilted his head in second-thought. "Well, it was at the time."

"Why are you telling me this?" Scully asked. "I'm assuming, as interested as you are in Nathan's love life, you're aware that he and I—"

"I'm aware of the nature of your relationship with Nathan, Agent Scully. And I'm also aware of how it changed about… thirty minutes ago?"

"Do you have this place under surveillance?" Scully asked seriously.

Holmes snickered. "Does Santa need bugs to tell him who's been naughty or nice?"

The Santa defense? The Santa _clause_. The pun made her smile. "I'm sure you won't be surprised when I insist there's no such thing as Santa Claus."

"Not at all. Nor do I find your overall skepticism about myself the least bit unexpected, but I would be shocked if you swore to me that you don't at least believe in love… or that you're not leaving just a little room for the possibility that he's your soul mate somewhere deep down in those parts of yourself you never show anyone—and don't want to show anyone—except him. I mean, you must at least guess that there's no one for you but him. "

Scully scoffed. "Mr. Holmes, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I can say with certainty that Nathan Riley is _not_ my soul mate."

Holmes laughed boisterously. "Oh, Agent Scully, I'm quite sure you may be the last person on this earth to reach that conclusion."

"Then, why—"

"I wasn't referring to Nathan," Holmes said, calming his laughter. He looked at her pointedly and with sober eyes. "You know who I meant."

She certainly did… for a moment… before she pushed it away. "You said you wanted to work directly on the problem at-hand. Why don't you cut all the scheming and just tell Nathan and Meredith that you think they're meant to be together?"

"It's not that simple. If I tell them what I'm telling you, they're bound to think I'm just some crazy old man—"

"Which is different from my reaction how?" Scully questioned him.

Holmes smiled warmly. "I think we both know you're different. You've always been different. That's why you and Agent Mulder work so well together, isn't it?"

Scully took a deep breath. This man's BS was awfully convincing. "Can I ask you something?"

"By all means."

"You said Nathan and Meredith's connection was the strongest you'd ever felt—"

"At the time, yes."

"May I ask—"

"No," Holmes said with a straight face, though his eyes smiled. He nodded subtly to the doorway.

Scully trained her eyes in that direction where they landed on Mulder who leaned against the doorframe with folded arms. She wondered how long he'd been standing there and was grateful for Holmes' thoughtful discretion. Not that she was going to ask about Mulder by name, but she was terribly curious as to how Holmes had written the two of them into his bizarre fairy tale. Suddenly, though, with Mulder there to play the inquisitive believer, her own question felt idiotic, and she was even more thankful Holmes had intervened on behalf of her humility.

"Mulder, I hope you've been hearing all this," Scully lied.

"I came in somewhere around the description of our magnetic doctor friends," Mulder said as he entered the office and closed the door behind him. "I'm assuming you've figured out that I lied about Mr. Holmes' affection for Meredith."

Scully nodded. "I might have done the same in the reverse situation."

"No. You would have told the truth. You always tell the truth," Mulder said.

"Lying by omission isn't exactly telling the truth," Holmes interjected. "You both do that far too often."

"You know," Mulder began, intent on defending Scully's honor much more than his own, "the only reason I didn't beat the hell out of you earlier is because I thought you were nuts, but now that I know who you really are—"

"Wait, who is it you think he is?" Scully asked curiously. Surely Mulder hadn't formed a version of events anywhere near the saga Holmes was spinning.

"Cupid," Mulder answered. He was proud of himself for figuring it out.

Scully rolled her eyes and shook her head. Mulder wasn't surprised by her reaction; did she ever believe anything he said? He turned to Holmes and theorized, "You used the patients, shot 'em with your arrows or whatever you do, to make them fall for each other then you found ways to keep them apart. It made them sick."

"I've not shot anyone, Agent Mulder, with an arrow or otherwise."

"What I really want to know, though, is… how'd you get the job?"

Holmes sighed. He met Scully's curious gaze and raised both his eyebrows. She thought it looked like he was asking her silent permission to share his story with Mulder. Scully hated to add fuel to the fire, but she lied by omission far too much anyway, according to Holmes. Besides, she knew there was no point in trying to hide anything from Mulder. He had already formed his harebrained hypothesis, and it clearly matched Holmes' version of the truth a little too well. She may as well let the crazy snowball until she had some sunny sanity ready to melt it all away.

"Mr. Holmes isn't Cupid," Scully told Mulder.

"Yeah, yeah, Scully. And I bet you don't believe in Santa Clause, either," Mulder taunted.

"Nor does Mr. Holmes _believe_ he's Cupid," Scully pressed on.

"Then what _does_ he believe?" Mulder asked her.

"You both realize I'm still here in the room, right?" Holmes questioned, though neither acknowledged him in the slightest.

"He believes he has no soul mate," Scully offered, trying to lay on the doubt a little thicker than normal. "He believes his soul is complete already and that, perhaps, he is the only one on the planet like this. He thinks this condition gives him the ability to identify soul mates and that it is his job to unite these… perfect complements. That's complements with an 'e,' Mulder."

Mulder looked at her curiously. She was telling him these details, in her best incredulous tone, as if they were from a fairytale, from Holmes' whacked fantasy, but he noticed something in Scully's voice and in her eyes that completely took him aback: belief.

"Okay, but _why_? Why you, Ansel?" Mulder questioned, feeling his ill-will toward the man eased for the moment. If Scully trusted him—maybe even liked him—Mulder could, too.

"I honestly don't know, Agent Mulder. I couldn't say if it was on purpose. If someone wanted me to do this, they never told me directly, but they've kept me around a little longer than nature usually allows so—"

"How much longer?" Mulder asked.

"Well, it's not like I paired up Adam and Eve or anything, but… it's been awhile."

"Oh my God," Scully remarked in amazement. This man was taking credit for every pairing in history except the one responsible for the Fall of Man. "This is ridiculous."

Mulder couldn't help but smile at Scully. He wondered if he would be able to find an "I _don't_ want to believe" poster for her somewhere. Maybe he could just edit his own with a Sharpie and a well-placed caret and move it to the wall by her area at work. He turned his attention back to Ansel Holmes.

"How does it work?" Mulder asked Holmes.

"It's just a feeling I have, an inner compass. I know what a united soul feels like so that seems to make it easier to find those that are close. As I explained to Agent Scully before, I have no perfect other. I will never fall in love. I'm fulfilled. I'm a whole person… all by myself. I don't think anyone else on this good earth can say that… at least, there's no one that I know of… and I know of a lot of souls and a lot of people and I feel a lot of things."

Mulder again glanced at Scully who leaned forward in her chair as she listened to Holmes' words. She didn't even look tired anymore. She looked engaged. He wished he could hook her into one of his own supernatural tales like that. He turned back to Holmes.

"Some souls call to each other," Holmes continued, "so desperately."

Holmes glanced up at Scully and it unnerved her. She'd been leaning forward in her seat, listening so intently, allowing herself to fall deeper into this fiction. She cleared her throat and sat up straight. She needed to disconnect.

"So you can tell when two people are meant to be together?" Mulder asked.

"Not just that they're 'meant to be together,' Agent Mulder. I can tell that they're a perfect match."

"You can pick out soul mates," Mulder clarified.

Holmes nodded.

"You know, that's funny, that's interesting because all these men the doctors had under their care here… they all had soul mates within their grasp, didn't they?"

"They did. Some still do," Holmes answered glumly.

"But you were here—you, this wealthy benefactor—because you've been working on Dr. Riley and Dr. Foster for a while now, haven't you? A few years?"

"That's true. You accidentally got in the way of some of my tampering. I must admit that I was getting rather desperate. I've never had to drug anyone before."

"But you were desperate before that, weren't you?"

Holmes sighed. "Yes, as I was trying to tell your partner before—"

"Instead of bringing these pairs together, you kept them apart," Mulder accused.

Scully stared at him, wondering if maybe he'd been listening for longer than he admitted. "Mulder, how the hell do you come up with this stuff?"

"I thought he already explained some of this to you, Scully."

"He did, but how did _you_ come up with it?"

Mulder smiled at her. "I always come up with it, Scully. It just usually works out that you get to hear it from me _before_ I bring you in on the case… which you always seem to conveniently forget by the time we solve the case using my correct theory."

"When do we ever solve cases?"

"Sometimes we do, Scully. And even if we don't, I'm always right… or at least pretty damn close."

Scully sat back in the chair, crossing her arms across her chest. She was sitting in a room with two certifiable nut jobs, and it was starting to piss her off.

"I want to emphasize to you," Holmes interjected into the silence, "I don't normally keep people apart. I usually bring them together so I honestly never knew what the effect would be—I never really even thought about there being a negative result."

"You were focused on Riley and Foster," Mulder concluded. "Scully and I get that. We approach our work a little too recklessly sometimes, too. Right, Scully?"

"Well, _you_ do sometimes, yes," she answered.

"But why so much trouble for Riley and Foster specifically? Were they really that well-suited?" Mulder wondered.

"There was nearly nothing lost in the break. They're such a clean fit. Like puzzle pieces. Not jagged edges that _basically_ go together. No, this is a perfect match."

"Is that unusual?" Mulder asked.

"It is. Though it's not the only time I've sensed such a connection," Holmes said as his eyes briefly flitted to Scully.

"Then why aren't they together yet?" questioned Mulder.

"Because they're stubborn," Holmes answered.

"And because they're afraid," Scully added, her eyes unintentionally finding Mulder's.

Holmes smiled. "That, too, I'm sure."

"Now you're both stealing my theories?" Mulder asked Scully with a smile.

"Well, Agent Mulder, since you're so clever and insightful," Holmes said, "maybe you can finish my story for me."

Mulder nodded. "You used these other people to create a little mini-epidemic, one that would draw in both doctors to the point that they'd be spending more time than usual together. You'd lead Dr. Foster toward the truth—to the idea of soul mates—hoping she would start to internalize the idea and realize her feelings for Nathan. You wanted her to act on those feelings, but when she didn't, you went for the drugs. Is that about right?"

Holmes stared at the floor. "I was so focused on Meredith and Nathan, I skipped my usual protocol. As I already explained to Agent Scully, Devon and Ellie Woodcomb were the first. I found out by accident when they were separated by her trip to a drug rehabilitation facility. When I saw the physical effects on Devon, I knew this would get the doctors' attention—the more cases, the better. I got in a hurry. Those that were married, for example, there'd normally be steps along the way, of course. Divorce, for one. I was in the process with Beau Ford and Jim Mason. I just got ahead of myself because I needed them when I needed them. Consequently, Jim Mason is married and in love with his co-worker. I'd found her soul mate—his wife's—but they hadn't met yet. The divorce wasn't even on the table. Yet."

"What about the altar boy and the priest?" Scully asked out of the blue. "Why bring them together?"

"I might look socially conservative, Agent Scully, but I assure you, I find soul mates in all sorts of mismatched packages. I don't really view the world in terms of gay or straight, for example."

"What about in terms of appropriate or pedophile… for example?" Scully questioned sharply.

"That's not exactly fair," Holmes defended.

It was Mulder's turn to sit back and watch the conversation unfold. Evidently it wasn't just Scully arguing with _him_ that turned him on.

"These people can't help where their souls landed," Holmes continued. "Casey Martin and Father O'Shea… they were so near already. Their existing proximity drew me to them. I can't help all the circumstances."

"Why not just let that one go?" questioned Scully.

"Partially because it was easy for them to meet the first time; Casey's parents were already members of the congregation. But it was also because love doesn't have to be romantic. Soul mates don't have to be lovers; they can simply be friends. Romance is just where human nature tends to lead us. Sex is where biological urges guide us. But it doesn't have to be so. When a man is as pure as Father O'Shea… I can assure you that his love for Casey Martin was as equally innocent and would have stayed that way. Souls are not sexual. They're spiritual."

Mulder glanced at Scully who stared at Ansel Holmes. He noticed that she twirled her cross in her fingers and wondered if she would let Holmes off the hook for this indiscretion, wondered what she made of his excuse. If there was one thing about Scully that was a mystery to Mulder, it was her faith.

"Will you be arresting me?" Holmes asked as he stared at his hands.

Mulder met Scully's inquisitive smile with a shrug. "Nah, you're free to go."

"So… you're not arresting me, but you won't help me fix this mess either, then?"

"Eh… now, wait a minute," Mulder replied. "I never said we wouldn't help you. I just want to know what your end goal is."

"Well—"

"Let's go for a walk," Mulder suggested.

"But, Agent Scully—"

"Doesn't believe a damn word your saying. We're wasting her time, really. Right, Scully?"

Scully was sure that Mulder knew exactly the position he was putting her in. Scully frowned, but what could she really say? That she may not believe it, but she still wanted to be in on it?

"I do have some more research to do," Scully finally agreed.

"Then it's settled. Let's go, Ansel," Mulder got up and made his way to the door.

Holmes followed him, but paused in the doorway and turned back to Scully to speak quietly, just to her. "The answer to the question you didn't get to ask… it's not really me you need to be asking, Agent Scully… it's yourself."

Scully smiled and nodded. Ansel Holmes, Cupid, Geriatric Fairy God Penguin—whoever he was—he gave Scully something she wasn't aware she was missing before: hope. Scully had hope. About love. About her soul mate. About her future. Because she'd already asked herself, and she already knew the answer.

It was Mulder.

And it always had been.


	50. Confirmation?

**Author's Note:** Harry Potter was enjoyable. In case you were wondering. I figured I should release a chapter today in honor of IBG's Conversation with Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny (and Chris Carter). If anyone reading this happens to be going there, well, I'm jealous. Oh, and tell Gillian that Estee (that's me) says hi. Okay, pause, I'm revealing way too much of my crazy fangirl side. I'll be more aloof from now on, I swear :) Thanks IAmLoisLane for beta-ing. Thanks to all of you for reading. And make sure you've read all the previous chapters... I've released several in a short (for me) amount of time.

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"You make my job so easy," Mulder said to Ansel Holmes while they walked along the sidewalk leading away from the hospital. "You just show up and confess."

"You already had it all figured out," Holmes said so blatantly humoring Mulder that it made the agent smile. "And you're the one who wanted me to stop by."

"You know, I like you, Ansel," Mulder told him as they reached a bench a block away from the hospital. "And I believe you are who you say you are."

"Of course, you do. You always believe what you _want_ to believe, don't you?"

"Why do I think you're not talking about the general 'you'?"

"I know what you—the specific you—want to know, Agent Mulder," Holmes said as he took a seat on the bench, "but I'm not going to tell you."

Mulder sighed and plopped down next to Holmes. "You know, Scully, she needs proof of everything, but I'm not asking you for that."

"No, you're just asking me for confirmation."

Mulder shrugged and nodded. That's exactly what he wanted.

"Look… what if I said the answer is no?" Holmes asked him. "What if I told you she isn't the one? What if I told you your soul mate was already dead... or hasn't been born yet?"

"I wouldn't believe you."

"So why bother asking?"

"Well…" Mulder floundered, "I guess it's like you said: confirmation."

"People who believe in God find their confirmation in the universe."

"So do people who don't," countered Mulder.

Holmes chucked. "I thought your partner was supposed to be the skeptical one."

"I'm not skeptical at all. I believe you. That's why I'm asking you."

"You _should_ be asking yourself," Holmes replied.

Mulder put his elbows on his knees and let his face rest in his palms. What if his soul mate was already dead? Something like that had come up before on another case, and Mulder had, naturally, believed it at the time. Now, though, his connection to Scully was the only one he felt, but was it fate or just circumstance? Did he love her simply because she was the one who was there? What if his soul mate hadn't been born yet? That was interesting and strange to consider. It also felt, in a tiny sliver of a way, true—that there was some part of himself that didn't yet exist.

Mulder inhaled then exhaled slowly, centering his thoughts on Scully. Clarity came immediately. He loved her. Was there ever really any question? And if she wasn't his soul mate then there was no such thing because there was only one person who was perfect for him.

It was Scully.

And it always had been.

"Fine," Mulder said as he looked up at Holmes with a smile. "Asked and answered."

"What'd you decide?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know," Mulder said with a smirk.

Holmes laughed jovially before a few seconds of silence passed between them.

"I can't speak for Scully—for all I know she has her next date with Nathan planned—but I'm willing to do what I can to help you make this match between he and Meredith. There is something I'd like to know first, though."

"I thought you already knew—"

"I do. Which is why I want to make sure… this isn't, say, a game within a game?"

"I don't follow," said Holmes.

Mulder looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Oh," Holmes realized. "Meeting the two of you was just chance. A happy accident. And I'm glad I have. You remind me of myself in many ways. And, Agent Scully… she's utterly charming."

Mulder narrowed his eyes, sizing up the statement.

"You know, I don't always interfere. I don't always have to," Holmes promised.

Mulder smiled. Not that he needed it, but that sounded like the confirmation he'd been fishing for earlier.

"In that case," Mulder said, "Let's recap, shall we?"

Holmes nodded.

"Father O'Shea, wholesome priest, and Devon Woodcomb, unadulterated idiot, are as far as we can take them. They've missed the chance for love in this life. Right?"

"Unfortunately so. But at least they're not sick anymore," Holmes said with relief. "Though I am sorry about the altar boy. And Ellie… "

Holmes paused for a long moment.

"You didn't know," Mulder eased, giving Holmes' shoulder a quick pat.

Holmes nodded and steadied his voice before speaking. "Everything went well with Chuck and Sarah?"

"Chuck Carmichael is squared away with his girl Sarah Burton in a private room at the hospital. They wanted a hotel room, but Nathan wasn't buying the miracle recovery so this was the best Meredith could do."

"That's going to be a good one," Holmes said with a grin. "Some relationships come at great costs, but others just have a certain joy about them from the beginning."

"Speaking of costs," Mulder spoke, "Beau Ford's childhood sweetheart and Jim Mason's receptionist crush will both arrive by morning."

"I've got their wives taken care of, also. Jessica Mason has been with the man from Maryland for weeks now. She feels a certain degree of guilt, but she'll get over it once she knows Jim is healthy and happy."

"And Mr. Ford's wife and son?"

"Oh, it's a good one. She hasn't met him yet, but I arranged for her to win a trip to Hawaii for two. She'll take her son, and they'll meet him there. It'll be wonderful and romantic, and when it's finally time for court, she'll be willing to offer joint-custody to Beau. Instead of two miserable parents, the boy will get four blissful ones."

Mulder smiled. "That's elaborate."

"It's a treat. For his wife. She deserves it."

There was quiet between them as Mulder thought of the remaining patient. "You're stuck on Henry Aaron, too, aren't you?"

"I should have never had him transferred into her class. I can't tell you how much I regret that now."

"Unless you can time travel—"

"I can't."

"Then you can't change anything you've already—"

"Normally I would have waited on Henry and Katrina. Ten years, at least."

"Ansel, that's brilliant," Mulder said.

"It would have been, you mean,"

"No… ten years… we can give them that."

"I'm a schemer, for sure, Agent Mulder, an orchestrator. But I'm no magician… and I assure you, I cannot travel through time—one way or the other."

"I've got it covered."

"But—"

"I promise," Mulder said. "And I've got Meredith and Nathan, too."

"Look, son, when I said you remind me of myself, I didn't mean—"

"Just give me a few days, okay? And I'll have it all wrapped up. I swear."

Holmes looked at him suspiciously, but then stood and stuck out his hand. Mulder rose and glanced down at Holmes' outstretched arm. After a moment, he took his hand and shook. Holmes looked at him thoughtfully.

"You know she feels the same, don't you?" inquired Holmes. "Both certain and unsure."

Mulder smiled. He'd take care of that, too. Eventually.


	51. Fifty Percent?

**Author's Note:** Super short, super sweet chapter. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for beta-ing. Thanks to you guys for reading. Don't hesitate to leave a review if you love it or you hate it or whatever in between :)

* * *

A half hour after he'd left, Mulder returned to Nathan's office alone. Scully had waited patiently at the desk, reading through some more websites, searching futilely for some clue that would lead to a less insane explanation. She stopped her pursuit as Mulder walked in and closed the door behind him. Scully glared at him.

"Oh, what?" he asked. "You can't blame me for hearing the guy out, can you? I mean, it's kind of an interesting story, isn't it?"

"But, you don't believe it," she said it as half question, half statement in an attempt to force some reason onto him. She knew it was no use. Of course, he believed.

"Considering I'm the one who came up with it…"

"No, Mulder. The things you came in here saying? He'd already said them to me. It was _his_ story… as false as it may have been."

"Uh… I don't know about that, Scully. I mean, his version—"

"I thought it was _your_ version—"

"The soul mate angle actually makes the most sense… or at least more sense than anything else any of us have come up with, right?"

Scully stood and walked over to lean on the desk in front of him. They had a momentary standoff before Scully folded her arms and sighed. "Come on, that man was crazy."

"Well, you think I'm crazy about fifty percent of the time."

"Fifty percent of the time?" she asked skeptically. "Mulder, on the crazy front, you're batting damn near a thousand."

Mulder inhaled air over his teeth. "God, a baseball reference, Scully? Maybe you _are_ my soul mate—"

"Mulder—"

"One of those platonic soul mates Ansel Holmes was talking about, of course," Mulder lied. He was more interested in flirting than confessing his love. For now.

"Uh huh," Scully replied, the smile only touching the furthest corners of her mouth.

"We should go to a game sometime. Take a weekend trip up to New York to see the Yankees play. Huh?"

"No," was all she said. She had to keep it short to keep it convincing.

"What's the matter, Scully? You have more necessary things to do with your time than watch a few overpaid guys slap a piece of horsehide with a stick?" Mulder asked as playfully as he dared. It was almost amusing to him how unpersuasive her "no" had been.

"All I know, Mulder, is that it's one hell of a time to be thinking about baseball," Scully said as she tilted her head back and stretched her neck. "I mean, how did we get from soul mates to the Yankees?"

"Didn't you know, Scully? Love and baseball… they're intrinsically linked.


	52. LoveOMatic?

**Author's Note:** To my real life friends who should be completing their dissertation and thesis project, thank you for reading this right now instead. To everyone else, about the same... it's just that I don't know what you should be doing instead, but I appreciate your time nonetheless. And your crazy awesome reviews. Thanks also to IAmLoisLane for also finding time to beta in her busy schedule. And, now, ladies and gentlemen (mostly ladies, though, right?), may I present to you, the lovable Lone Gunmen's Love-O-Matic (patent pending).

* * *

Mulder and Scully exited Nathan's office and quite literally ran smack dab into their favorite underground conspiracy trio with Scully and Frohike taking the brunt of the collision. The Lone Gunmen bounced backwards such that Byers and Langly had to catch Frohike before they all ended up scattered on the ground like bowling pins. Scully, on the other hand, was not pushed toward the floor, but propelled into her partner who deftly caught her under her arms and stood her back up.

"You okay?" Mulder asked Scully as he clasped a chunk of hair that had flipped over to the wrong side of her part. His fingers lingered gingerly behind her ear where they'd tucked the hair back, and a tentative thumb traced softly down her cheek, which flushed a scarlet heat he found both tangible and satisfying. Time paused for a single indulgent second then the clock ticked back into its regular rhythm.

"I'm fine," she insisted then slowly spun toward the guys with her laser look locked on the shortest of the gang. "Frohike, so help me, if I find out you choreographed that just so you could cop a feel... I will kick your ass from Roswell to Dallas."

Byers and Langly traded amused looks.

"As titillating as that sounds, I can assure you that if it were a setup, _I'd_ be the one catching you in my hulky arms… not Agent Perfect over there," Frohike said as he tossed a scowl in Mulder's direction.

"Settle down, Melvin," Mulder said good-naturedly as he shared a smile with Scully. "And for the record, it's _Doctor_ Perfect you should be worried about, not Agent."

Langly and Byers' tandem head tilt expressed their common confusion.

"Mulder… " Scully's eyebrows pulled together curiously at Mulder's tone which mimicked Frohike's enough to give her pause. "For the record… he _shouldn't_."

Mulder looked at her long enough to catch the drift of her words. Frohike shouldn't worry about Dr. Perfect because there was nothing between them. Officially. And if Frohike didn't have to worry, neither did Mulder. That last part was less interpretation of her expression and more his own ambitious elucidation. In other words, wishful thinking.

"Broke it off, huh, Scully?" Mulder asked playfully then turned to the Gunmen. "Watch out, boys, she'll chew you up."

"Man-eater," Langly mouthed to Frohike who brutally elbowed him in the ribs.

With everyone righted, recovered and set straight, Mulder and Scully noticed a metal cart a few feet behind the Gunmen that looked like a short storage cabinet on wheels.

"What are you three doing here anyway?" Scully asked, eying their cargo. "And what the hell is that?"

"Mulder didn't tell you we were on the way?" Byers asked innocently.

"No…" Scully glanced at Mulder who shrugged.

"I didn't tell you because no one told me," Mulder insisted, giving the guys a pointed look.

"We told you we had just the thing for this case," Langly reminded him.

"Yeah, well, okay, but I didn't think you were going to bring it over immediately to Fairfax. It's almost three a.m."

Langly, Frohike and Byers looked at Mulder as if he were in a foreign movie and there were no subtitles.

"You know, never mind. Just… take it into the waiting room," Mulder told them.

Scully folded her arms and glowered at Mulder, though it was completely for show. Truth be told, she was curious about the Gunmen's wee hour delivery. "You know, Mulder—"

"I swear I didn't know they were coming, and I sure as hell didn't invite them."

"Uh huh." Scully's face melted into an easy smile. "Come on, Agent Perfect. Let's see what the three amigos have in store."

Scully's enthusiasm was squelched when she and Mulder walked into the waiting room. The cart had been opened up and folded out in all directions.

"Lady and gentleman, step right up." Frohike took on the persona of a ring master. "May I present to you the Love-O-Matic."

It looked like a crash cart crossed with one of those electronic palm reading machines that Scully saw outside the restroom of every mall she'd ever visited. She was not impressed. At all.

"Is this a joke?" Scully muttered to Mulder.

"I…uh…"

"He's serious. Step up," Langly instructed the agents.

Mulder and Scully glanced at each other, but then walked a few paces closer to the machine. There were two rubber silhouettes of hands on the horizontal surface of the contraption just below a single gauge with a large red needle. A phallic glass tube holding a small reserve of red liquid sat upside down above the gauge. Behind the main body, wires and cords were spilling out and coiling around in every direction. On the floor, a runner made of diamond plated steel glimmered even under the fluorescent hospital lights.

"What the hell is this?" Scully asked.

"The Love-O-Matic measures compatibility," Byers explained.

Scully turned to Mulder in time to see his eyes roll. That was a rare expression on his part, and it let Scully know that this was as stupid as she'd suspected.

"Look, guys," Mulder said impatiently, "Scully's exhausted and I'm just plain beat—"

"Believe it or not, this thing works," Langly promised. "Now, come on."

Scully and Mulder traded a skeptical look—an infrequent happening.

"Oh, come on. Hurry up. Let's get this over with," Frohike griped.

Mulder started to take a step forward, but Scully put her arm out to stop him.

"_How_ exactly is this supposed to help us on this case?" Scully directed her question to Byers, the man she considered to be the most rational of the group—maybe even in the room.

"Mulder said this case has to do with love and compatibility," Langly spoke up.

"Soul mates," Mulder clarified.

"We're assuming, Agent Scully, you could use some proof," Byers chimed in.

"You have _no_ idea," Scully replied.

"This machine'll give you that proof," Frohike guaranteed. "If these people are soul mates, their compatibility should be off the charts."

"You know, it's not so much a matter of compatibility," Mulder began, "as it is—"

"Look, if you want to know if two people are or could be in love," Frohike butt in, "the Love-O-Matic'll tell you. Ninety-eight percent accurate."

"How could you even possibly know that?" Scully questioned.

"Maybe you should just let us give you a demonstration," Langly suggested.

"Sure," Mulder said. "You and Frohike hop right on, and let's see if all this banter is really just an outward expression of your unresolved romantic tension."

"Or you and Scully could give it a shot," Byers suggested evenly.

"No!" Scully and Mulder said together then turned to one another.

"I mean, no offense, Scully," Mulder spoke hesitantly. "I'd just hate to feed into this delusion that a machine could assess compatibility."

Scully nodded, though his reluctance actually surprised her. She felt like she should at least attempt to represent his regular side of the argument. "And even if it could, we're not looking for compatibility anyway, right? We need—"

"Complementary. Right," Mulder agreed.

"Anyone know what in the Sam Hill they're talking about?" Frohike asked the others.

"Shh," Langly waved a hand to hush him and turned back to Mulder and Scully as if watching a movie.

"Then again," Scully advocated, "if it doesn't work, what's the harm?"

"You mean, you want to try it?" a baffled Mulder suspiciously asked his suddenly open-minded partner.

"I don't _want_ to try it," Scully claimed. "I just don't want to be rude."

Mulder stared at her for a good ten seconds. She didn't want to be rude? She was willing to step into—or onto, however it worked—the Love-O-Matic… with him. Then it started to make sense. If, for whatever inexplicable reason, she didn't completely doubt the Gunmen's creation, what did she have to be worried about? She didn't have any romantic inclination toward Mulder—not _really_, not beyond their normal surface-level flirtations, not in the sense of genuine compatibility. He, on the other hand, was in love with her, and while he was skeptical of the Gunmen's device, he was more afraid that it would actually work… that it would tell him something he didn't want to hear, something he was terrified to find out: that he really didn't have a shot, that _they _didn't have a shot. Maybe Ansel Holmes was being easy on him earlier. Maybe Scully wasn't his soul mate.

That couldn't be possible.

"Mulder?" Scully asked, squinting as she read his face.

"If they can hear you saying you don't want to be rude," Mulder argued in a last ditch effort, "you might as well just go ahead and be rude."

Scully turned back toward the machine. She knew how she felt about Mulder, but she didn't really believe the Love-O-Matic was even operational, let alone capable of gauging compatibility. What was the harm?

"Come on, Mulder," Scully suggested in a way Mulder would never know how to refuse, "live a little."


	53. Propinquity?

**Author's Note:** So. School starts Monday. I'm a teacher. You do the math. Thanks for hanging in there with this story. As we're getting closer to the end, I hope you're still enjoying it. Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks IAmLoisLane for your beta skills and science nerdiness. And, to the 3 awesome people who had birthdays last week, this one's for you :)

* * *

"I'm curious," Scully said as she and Mulder stared at the Gunmen's contraption. "How exactly does this work?

"If you're compatible, it tells us," Langly answered simply.

"But how?" Scully pressed.

Frohike answered with a mysterious, "That's top secret."

"Plus we haven't applied for all the proper patents yet," Byers added sensibly.

"Okay. Cut the crap. All of you," Mulder instructed. "You know Scully's a scientist; give her the science. If there is any."

"Of course there's science," Frohike insisted. "Tell 'em, Goldilocks."

Langly sighed and folded his arms. "When the Love-O-Matic recognizes the physical signs of attraction, the needle in the center gauge tilts to the right. The more indicators, the further over it goes," he explained.

"What physical signs are we talking about here?" Mulder asked. This was starting to sound way more legitimate than he'd imagined. His heart raced.

"Elevated pulse," Langly answered. "Involuntary muscle twitches."

"Sweaty palms," Frohike offered.

"Not to mention various hormones and chemicals released in that palm perspiration," Byers added. "And when they're present, a proportional amount electrical current is sent to heat the ethyl alcohol in the glass tube."

Mulder glanced at Scully with raised eyebrows. Did she buy this? She replied with a shrug. She was undecided. Mulder smiled. He was still in if she was. She nodded. She was still in.

"Okay, boys, strap us in. But if we end up switching bodies or turning into some sort of weird fly people a la Jeff Goldblume then—"

"We call dibs on the case," Scully interjected in jest.

"You know, Scully, we could save some time and just elope now," Mulder joked.

"And put all these years I've spent denying that I'm 'Mrs. Spooky' to waste?"

The two FBI agents gazed at one another for a moment. They both knew they were in trouble if the Love-O-Matic actually worked because Mulder's joke was more of a disguised desire, and Scully had no problem if the answer to her question was 'yes.'

Frohike cleared his throat to get their attention. Mulder and Scully glanced over.

"When you're ready, just put your hands there," Byers said, indicating the black handprint outlines on the front surface of the gadget.

Mulder and Scully took one more look at each other then stepped up and stood next to each other on the metal plating. They reached out to place their hands—the ones closest to each other—on the machine as directed, but they each found their thumb on the wrong side.

"You have to face each other," Langly clarified.

Scully's eyelids fell closed in sync with Mulder's as they let out a united sigh. They reluctantly shuffled their feet so that they were standing face-to-face. Actually, it was more like face-to-chest, hers to his, but they were still pressed far too close to feel like friends. Unfortunately, there was simply no other option if they were going to fit on the metal floor and keep their hands correctly positioned. At least, that was how they both rationalized their quick acquiescence to the impossibly close contact.

Mulder could smell Scully's shampoo, even after it had been who knows how long since she'd been able to wash her hair. Or maybe that sweet-smelling scent was her own. He recognized when she glanced up at him because he could feel her breath tickle his neck, and he couldn't help but tilt his head down to meet her look. Mulder had to remind himself to inhale… then exhale. Had she always taken his breath away?

Scully stared into Mulder's eyes and wondered how embarrassed she would feel if she fainted due to nothing more than propinquity to her partner. She certainly felt light-headed enough to pass out, but blinked a few times and effectively regained her composure. It was preposterous to be so affected by him. Had they ever been this close?

Mulder not only wanted to kiss her, but earnestly considered it. He thought about it so seriously, in fact, that he regretfully concluded it would be unmanageable at this proximity; he wouldn't be able to crane his neck down enough to reach her lips. Maybe the Lone Gunmen would loan her a crate…

Byers, Frohike and Langly stood in a row, gawking at the pair.

"This is hotter than what's on those tapes Mulder doesn't let me borrow," Frohike commented.

Mulder and Scully were snapped back to reality by every angle of the innuendo; they both turned their heads to stare at Frohike, mouths agape.

"Can we get the show on the road?" Scully finally spoke up.

"Langly?" Byers asked with a nod toward the machine.

"Right, let me just get it powered up," Langly said as he walked around to stand behind the machine. He turned a few dials then flipped a switch. The gadget hummed with electricity.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Mulder asked.

Langly shrugged. "Relatively."

"It's safe," Byers assured them both.

"Okay," Frohike said as he walked up behind them. "You two just need to complete the circuit."

"See, now that sounds like we're going to get shocked," said Mulder.

"Someone in this room is going to be shocked, but not by electricity," Langly assured him with a glance toward Frohike then added, "We usually have the couple kiss."

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut. He knew Scully wasn't going to tolerate this much longer. She usually had a short fuse where the Gunmen were concerned. Then again, she was the one who'd told him to 'live a little.' He couldn't think of a better way to live it up than to lock lips with his lovely little lady of a partner.

"How do we complete the circuit, Byers?" asked Scully, trying to ignore whatever side argument Frohike and Langly had going on.

"You need a point of contact, that's all," Byers explained.

"Hands'll do just fine," Frohike interjected.

Scully met glances with Mulder once more. They could handle hands.

"Shall we?" Mulder held up his hand as if inviting her to dance.

Scully glimpsed down at the open hand he offered. She took a calming breath then put her palm against his. She slowly slipped her fingers between his much longer ones, and felt four balls of heat make solid contact with the back of her hand. His thumb reached the edge of her wrist, but he slid it back up along the edge of her thumb all the way to her nail… then back down again. His gesture of comfort in this awkward situation was also unintentionally seductive to Scully in a way that made her knees weak. Or was it her willpower?

Mulder watched Scully first consider then take his hand. He let out an anticipatory breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. She slid her small fingers between his knuckles, and he felt her cozy grip warm more than just his hand. As he touched her with entirely intentional intimacy, Mulder wondered if they were being slowly electrocuted by the Love-O-Matic or if the buzz of electricity was his own imagined explanation of the charge that had been slowly building between them for minutes. Or had it been years?

"Okay, you both ready?" Langly asked.

Mulder quirked an eyebrow up. Scully nodded back nearly imperceptibly.

"Hit us with your best shot," Mulder said.

Langly pressed a button and the machine hummed loudly.

"On second thought," Mulder amended, "maybe just aim for the leg."

"As I already said, it's perfectly—" Byers was cut off as the lights in the waiting room flickered.

"What the hell is happening?" Frohike asked, rushing over to Langly.

Mulder kept his eyes on Scully as she looked up at the fluorescents then turned to Langly and asked, "Should we-?"

"No. Stay right where you are," Langly instructed sharply.

"Breaking the circuit now wouldn't be advisable," Byers agreed.

"The gauge is already maxed out," Frohike observed.

"That can't be right," Byers said joining the group behind the Love-O-Matic. "It's never even been past the halfway mark."

"Mulder?" Scully asked, gripping his hand securely.

"Fellas…?"

"Just hang tight," Langly said. "Oh my God."

"What?" Mulder and Scully asked simultaneously.

"The Love-ometer," Byers said, indicating the glass tube.

"Love-ometer?" Scully questioned cynically.

"Patent pending," Frohike told her.

They all watched as the red liquid rose in the cylinder.

"What?" Mulder asked with concern as the guys all looked around at one another with what could have been interpreted as nothing short of panic spattering their faces.

"Um, well…" Byers hedged, "we actually assumed this part was nonfunctional."

"It's never worked before," Frohike added in awe as the liquid continued to expand upward.

"You calculated the projected volume, right?" Scully asked.

"Um…" Langly replied as the dyed-red alcohol neared the top of the conduit.

"Is there enough space for expansion?" Scully asked him.

"Questions later," Frohike shouted. "Right now, duck!"

No one argued. When they saw Frohike hit the ground, everyone else did the same. The Gunmen all went down in the fetal position. Mulder pulled his jacket up over Scully as they jumped from the machine and fell to the floor.

The fallout was minimal: a shower of glass shards and red liquid. When Langly crawled over and pulled the plug on the Love-O-Matic, the room settled into shocked silence. Byers and Frohike rolled onto their backs while Mulder slowly withdrew his suit coat shield and protective arm from atop Scully's back. He rolled over onto his side and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with a seething scowl. She was the first one up and instantly headed for the Gunmen.

"Incoming, fellas," Mulder warned.

Frohike, Langly and Byers sat up sheepishly to find Scully above them, hands on hips and foot tapping. "I'm going to kick your asses."

"Even mine?" Byers asked hopefully.

"Yours first. You said this was safe!" Scully shouted at him.

The Gunmen, covered in red goo, scurried to their feet while Mulder picked himself up and stood behind Scully, shaking glass shards from his jacket.

"Guys, you might want to run. I can try and hold her back, but she's surprising strong for such a small person."

Scully's glare was just as menacing over her shoulder, but she wasn't biting on Mulder's attempt at deflection. She turned back to the Gunmen and took a step forward.

"Wait. Just… wait." Langly said with his hands up in the defensive position as he walked back over to the supposedly faulty device. "You guys do understand what happened here, don't you?"

"The Love-O-Matic turned out to be more of a Crap-O-Matic?" Mulder asked.

"Oh, no, it worked," Frohike said dejectedly.

Mulder and Scully both immediately saw where this was going, but they also both knew it was best to play dumb.

"Your compatibility was off the charts. Immeasurable, even by a device as sophisticated as this one… was," Langly explained.

"Basically, what he's getting at," Frohike grumbled, "is you two are so damn hot for each other that you broke our machine."

Mulder and Scully glanced at one another. Deny everything.

"That's ridiculous," Scully said.

"Yeah," Mulder added weakly. "Scully and I are not… _hot_ for each other."

Langly and Frohike paused their Love-O-Matic pack-up to glance at one another. While reluctant, Frohike's skepticism told Mulder he better leave the rest of the denying to his capable partner.

"That thing is barely even theoretically possibly, let alone ninety-eight percent accurate," Scully went on. "And, besides, I thought you were hackers _not_ scientific love gurus."

"_They're_ hackers, actually," Byers corrected. "I'm—"

"An accessory," Scully accused.

"You're angry," Byers deduced.

"Ya think?" Scully hit back.

"Maybe everyone should just take a deep breath," Mulder suggested.

"I think we'll just do as you suggested and make a run for it instead," Byers told him with a smile as Frohike and Langly pushed the Love-O-Matic out the door. "Unless… should we clean up?"

"Nah. We can handle it," Mulder replied.

Scully frowned and narrowed her eyes.

"I can handle it, I meant," amended Mulder. "Me… all by myself…"

Byers gave him a cordial nod as he headed out the door after the others. Mulder stared at the empty doorway for a long moment before he turned back to Scully. He was surprised—shocked, actually—to find her smiling.

Her anger was an act… mostly. She'd established a certain hierarchy with the Gunmen, and she wanted to keep them in check. She hadn't even been touched by the red fluid or glass, thanks to Mulder's chivalrous shielding. She was, though, confused. Even though she didn't endorse their methodology or equipment, she certainly couldn't argue with the Gunmen's conclusion regarding her chemistry with Mulder. She'd felt the connection before Langly ever flipped a switch. But was it all from her side? Or could Mulder have possibly felt it, too? Even the thought of just a shared physical attraction was enough to make the situation bearable—even amusing.

"So was that thing total junk or what?" Mulder asked, still trying to get a feel for Scully's actual reaction to the events of the previous ten minutes.

"Absolutely," Scully said with a nod, glancing around the room. She chuckled. "Love-O-Matic?"

"I know. And to suggest that we're hot for each other…"

"Exactly," Scully agreed. "Frohike, of all people, should know what type of woman you go for," Scully said matter-of-factly.

"And what type of man you _don't_ go for," Mulder added with a grin then tilted his head. "Just an idle and long-standing curiosity in need of satisfying, Scully, but exactly what type of woman is it you think I go for?"

"Let's just say Dr. Foster would be an exemplar."

"That's interesting, actually, because—"

"What kind of man _don't_ you think I go for?" Scully's couldn't hold back her question.

"The short, computer hacker kind, for one, but I'm assuming the crackpot, FBI G-man type isn't really for you either," Mulder answered.

"I'm not sure about that. I know of at least one crackpot—albeit brilliant—FBI G-man that doesn't fall completely in the 'no' column. In terms of overall attractiveness, that is." The words left Scully's mouth in an inexplicable moment of fearlessness, but she already wanted them back… until Mulder spoke:

"Oh, well, if I happen to have even a few fingertips stretching out of your 'no' column," Mulder began with cautious bravery, "you should probably know, in terms of overall attractiveness, you've been on my 'yes' list from the beginning."


	54. Fair Dinkum?

**Author's Note:** This is coming before Sunday per special request by CC. Not _that_ CC. Though, how hilarious would that be? Chris Carter sitting around checking out the latest fic. I guess he doesn't have anything else going on right now (for some unknown reason... TXF3, what?). Wow, I can tell the week has been long and I'm tired. Kind of like Mulder in this chapter. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for the beta-magic. Thanks to all of you for your reviews; they amaze and flatter me still. THANK YOU :)

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Each had made a strange sort of confession, and it left Mulder and Scully in assiduous silence as they worked together to sweep up the broken glass and mop up the red liquid that had previously covered the waiting room's floor.

Mulder had no regrets. In fact, telling Scully he found her attractive was nothing compared to what he could have shared; there were so many other thoughts bullying his brain and threatening to breaking out of his mouth. And though she'd been nonspecific and indirect, Scully complimenting his looks went down as major points on his scorecard.

Scully had been meeker. After all, she'd done little more than, in a basically roundabout way, tell him his looks didn't make her vomit. She was completely comfortable with that evasive acknowledgment, but based on his complimentary (with an i) response, she couldn't help wonder if she should have countered with something stronger and more straightforward.

Instead, she'd been silent. And so had he. They would have stayed that way, had Meredith and Nathan not entered the waiting room.

"We were wondering where the pair of you got off to," Meredith declared. "We've been fossicking through this whole bloody floor."

"What happened?" Nathan questioned coolly as his eyes took in the scarlet-stained tiles beneath their feet.

Scully met Mulder's eyes, and she saw the smile start in them just before it found its way to his lips. "We had some private consultants do a few tests. Just bill the FBI for the damages. Put it to the attention of Assistant Director Walter Skinner."

"What kind of tests?" Nathan questioned.

"Did they find out anything?" Meredith asked almost at the same time.

Mulder wagged a pointed finger from one doctor to the other as if deciding whose question to answer. His extended digit finally landed in a line toward Meredith.

"Nothing we didn't already know," Mulder equivocated with a sly glance in Scully's direction.

Scully found his double-speak disarming. Half of her wished they weren't in a hospital, on a case or in a room with two other people… the other half was glad they were.

"Anyway, we were just on our way to tell you," Mulder blatantly lied, "we're calling it a night. We should all head home and get some sleep."

This was news—welcome news—to Scully.

"But we haven't come any closer to figuring anything out," Nathan argued.

Mulder shrugged. "Maybe you two haven't—"

"And what does Ansel Holmes have to do with all this?" Nathan interrogated. "Meredith told me you got him out of bed to come down here and—"

"Wow, you are _intense_ for four in the morning," Mulder cut him off.

"Not to mention that you've got this Canadian woman—"

"Leah Conners," Scully offered up the name of Jim Mason's coworker.

"You've got Leah Conners coming in tomorrow morning for some reason I'm still not entirely clear on… possibly and probably because you made it up," Nathan inveighed.

"You think because you don't understand something I must have made it up?" Mulder antagonized.

"Mulder," Scully scolded.

"Not this again," Nathan complained.

"Nathan," Meredith reproached.

They all squared off until Nathan finally sighed. "We should all get some sleep."

"Good idea," Mulder lauded sarcastically. "Our agents will stay on duty and make sure no more mysterious phone calls go out—which I feel certain they wouldn't anyway. We've also got someone ready to bring Leah Conners in when she arrives. That'll go fine. And, as for Henry, I've got that figured out, too."

"Fair dinkum?" Meredith asked.

"Fair dinkum," Mulder replied, only guessing that he made sense. "Let's all reconvene at noon."

Meredith and Nathan agreed to the terms, looking as fatigued as Mulder and Scully felt. They walked to the parking lot as a pack, but then said their goodbyes and divided.

The ride from Fairfax to Georgetown passed in peculiar silence. Mulder assumed it was because Scully was tired, nodding off in the seat next to him and not in the mood to form coherent sentences. Scully presumed Mulder was lost in his own thoughts about the case, focused on Henry and not interested in sharing his latest theory with her just yet.

It wasn't until Mulder pulled into a parking spot surprisingly close to Scully's front door that she chose to ask, "You've really got a solution for Henry?"

"Let's call it an 'idea,'" Mulder corrected as he rubbed a knuckle into his eye and yawned. "A good idea."

"Will you be okay to make it home?"

Mulder leaned his head back against the car seat and closed his eyes. When he spoke, it was through another yawn, "Of course."

In truth, he wasn't sure. It had been a long time since he'd been sleepy. Tired, yes. He was often tired, but his body rarely longed for sleep as it did in this moment. He might drive a block and sleep in the car. What else could he do? Asking if you can sleep over after you indirectly tell a woman you're hot for her could be mis—or, maybe correctly—interpreted.

Scully couldn't remember a time when she'd seen dark circles under Mulder's eyes or watched his lids droop as they fought for consciousness. She considered the invitation she was about to make very carefully. Not two hours before, she and Mulder had made admittance of a mutual physical attraction. To invite him in now may seem like a come-on. That interpretation made her nervous mostly because it might _be_ a come-on if she had anything close to the courage required _to_ come on to Mulder, which she didn't. In the end, her concern for her partner won out over her fear of how he may misconstrue her request.

"I think you should sleep here."

"Mmm. Mm hmm," Mulder mumbled as he folded his arms and snuggled down into the seat.

"In my _apartment_, Mulder."

Mulder's head lolled to the side as he regarded her with a crooked smile.

"You can stay on the couch again," she said, ignoring the innuendo he didn't have to verbalize.

"Thanks, Scully," he said, letting her off—or, more correctly, leaving her on—the hook. "Probably better I crash on your couch than in my car."

Scully wondered if he meant "crash" as in wrecking or sleeping. But she was about to crash herself. "Crash" as in coming down from the high of hearing her handsome partner possibly indicate the possibility that their proximity was as pleasantly disconcerting to him as it had been to her. Scully thought the solution for this—as with most dreams one wanted to re-conjure—would be sleep.

"Come on, Mulder. Let's get some sleep."

"Sounds great," Mulder replied as they got out of the car. "Oh, and Scully, even though it's just in the same apartment, when I recount this night to Frohike, I'm allowed to say we slept together, right?"

"For Frohike, I think you can do a little better than that."


	55. Plausible Deniability?

**Author's Note:** The worst thing about school starting again is not having time to write. The best thing (so far) was that I was casually chatting to some kids about movies that we'd seen or liked, and this kid said, "Yeah, but what about the X-Files?" Obviously, he's getting an A (/joke). Anyway, thanks to IAmLoisLane for the beta work. Thanks to you guys for reading. The only thing better than reading is reading AND reviewing :) And, now, let your azure/cerulean/chocolate orbs gaze down the page (/inside joke).

* * *

Mulder woke up to banging. Sort of. The heavy thudding against Scully's front door roused him enough to get him to stumble up off the couch and over to the door, but he wasn't awake—not fully. He fumbled with the locks as the pounding started again.

"Hold on, damn it," Mulder muttered. When he finally unlocked the door and let it swing open, he greeted the guest with a biting "What the hell is it?"

It wasn't until Mulder saw Skinner's face contorted in confused anger that he really woke up.

"Mulder, is that you making all that—Sir," Scully cut off her question as she entered the living room and noticed her boss standing in the doorway. "Please, come in."

Mulder stepped aside to admit Skinner into Scully's apartment. He closed the door behind the Assistant Director then turned back to catch his first glimpse of Scully. She had on her fluffy robe over some white silky pajamas. At least she was dressed.

Mulder was suddenly hit with more than the consciousness of being awake, but also the self-consciousness of standing before his high-ranking superior while wearing exactly three items of clothing… and that was only if you counted the socks separately.

"Put on some pants, Agent Mulder," Skinner instructed.

"Yes, Sir," Mulder mumbled as he glanced around at the various items of his clothing that were strewn around Scully's couch. He also spotted the overnight bag he'd carried in from the car, but figured Skinner would appreciate the quickest possible fix so he simply scooped up his suit pants and slipped them on over his boxers.

"Now where the hell have you two—_shirt_, too, Agent…"

Mulder, feistier with every waking breath, rolled his eyes, but snatched up his white undershirt and pulled it over his head.

Scully watched him from across the room, wondering if he could make them look any more suspicious to Skinner. His clothes and belongings were scattered all around the couch and coffee table, his hair was sticking out in all directions… and he'd answered her door in his socks and boxers. Not that she was exactly helping matters coming out in her robe and p.j.'s, but at least she was well-covered. When Skinner cleared his throat, Scully realized she'd been caught staring at her now slightly-more-clothed partner, which did absolutely nothing to repair Skinner's disgusted expression.

"Sir, what exactly are you doing here?" Scully redirected.

"I want to know why I wasn't invited to the slumber party," Skinner answered derisively. "Why do you think I'm here, Agent Scully? My two typically-in-touch agents, who are in the middle of a case, go missing in the middle of the night—"

"We weren't missing," Mulder countered. "We were at the hospital all night. We didn't leave until after four a.m."

"I know. I spoke with Dr. Riley at home about an hour ago."

"What time is it?" Mulder asked, glancing around in a search of his watch.

"It's ten-thirty," Skinner answered. "I expected you to call this morning and give me an update as you said you would when he last spoke, Agent Mulder. When I didn't hear from either of you, I got on the phone and started making some calls of my own. Are you aware that both of your cellular phones are being forwarded to your office at the FBI? I know this because that's where I was standing when I called them."

Scully explained, "I assume the batteries in our phones are dead. I haven't charged mine since we left for California."

"Ditto," Mulder agreed. "Mine died after I made some calls last night."

"I also called your home phones."

"I'm not in right now," Mulder sarcastically informed Skinner.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. I turned on my bureau answering service when we got in this morning. I asked for no calls or messages to be put through before eleven."

"So I was told by the girl at the answering service when I threatened to have her fired. She still wouldn't forward my call through."

"We're pretty friendly," Scully replied. "Mulder and I planned to meet Dr. Foster and Dr. Riley at noon, and I thought we could both use a little uninterrupted sleep."

"And just why did you 'both' end up _here_?" Skinner asked, looking from one agent to the other.

"Because Mulder could barely keep his eyes open; he certainly couldn't _drive_," Scully replied earnestly.

Unhappy with this response, Skinner's eyes shot to Mulder.

"Because we're sleeping together," Mulder deadpanned.

Skinner gnawed on the inside of his cheek and put his hands on his hips.

"Mulder," Scully said with a small shake of her head. Skinner was clearly ticked off and sarcasm wasn't going to help.

"Well, isn't that what he's implying?" Mulder asked Scully.

"I think he's just implying that he was worried about us," Scully replied.

Mulder turned to Skinner for confirmation. Scully's look followed.

"No. No, he's a little closer, actually," Skinner said nodding toward Mulder.

Mulder chuckled. "Look, Sir, Scully and I have been working our asses off on this case. You've just interrupted our first real go at sleep in days—an attempt we were making separately and in different rooms just like we've done on pretty much every other case we've ever been on."

"Pretty much?" Skinner questioned.

Ignoring him, Mulder continued, "Putting aside that I was so tired when we got here at five this morning that I couldn't have made love to Scully even if I'd wanted to—even if she'd wanted me to…"

Scully rolled her eyes. That wasn't the phrasing she would have put forward.

"…I hope you respect us enough to know that when we're on the job, we put our work first," Mulder finished.

"That's not exactly the defense I was looking for, but I guess it'll do," said Skinner.

"But you should know," Mulder continued, "if there ever was anything going on between Scully and me… we'd never be stupid enough to admit it to you."

A curious, inquisitive gaze floated from Scully to Mulder. She didn't even know the question and he sure as hell didn't have the answer. Still, the look lingered, something asked and unanswered, but understood, undeniably, between them.

"Why don't you grab a shower," Scully finally said to Mulder. "I'll fill the Assistant Director in on the medical details of the case."

"Or lack thereof," Mulder said with an arrogant smile as he grabbed his overnight bag and headed out of the room.

When Mulder was gone, Skinner sat down on the couch and asked, "Any truth to what he said?"

"About the lack of medical facts pertaining to the case?" Scully asked back as she took a seat in a chair.

"No."

Scully sighed. "Sir, it's pointless conjecture. Mulder and I… are partners."

"But you wouldn't tell me if it was more than that."

"I…" Scully was at a loss. To have a thought go from a private desire to a topic discussed as if it had real potential felt incredibly strange. Just to engage in this conversation was to admit the reality of the possibility that she and Mulder could, at some point, be more than partners, more than friends. She knew Mulder's jibes had been in jest, meant mainly to push Skinner's buttons, but now he wanted clarification as to how she would handle a nonexistent situation. All that came to her was the truth. "I may not be forthright, but I would find it difficult to be deliberately dishonest with you, Sir."

Skinner smiled. "In that case, I guess I better stop asking."

"Sir?"

"I'm just thinking maybe Mulder had it right. It's probably best I don't know. Plausible deniability and all that."

"But, honestly, Sir—"

"Just fill me in on the case Agent Scully."


	56. Conditioner?

**Author's Note:** So, I know I'm taking some liberties with the details of Scully's bathtub/shower. Go with me. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for a speedy beta return. Welcome to those of you who are just checking out this story for the first time, and thanks to those of you who are still coming back for more :) Much appreciated.

* * *

When Mulder walked into Scully's bathroom, he instantly felt awful. She'd drawn a bath, but had been interrupted before she'd been able to slip down into her own personal "happy place." He dipped a few fingers in the water and found it still warm and scented with what he guessed were some sort of bath salts: something in the way of cherry vanilla. With a silent apology to Scully, he sunk his hand down into the water and pulled the plug.

As the liquid began its counter-clockwise decent down the drain, Mulder went to stand up again, but paused when something under the sink caught his eye. Just along the edge of the vanity that held the white sink basin, Mulder noticed a few sunflower seeds. They must have fallen out of his pocket the last time he'd been in this bathroom to shower. That night, he'd shared and bared it all only to later explain the truth away with a well-constructed lie.

Mulder reached out, but stopped before his fingers got to the seeds. Even though it was just a little something, those seeds were a piece of him—a little bit of his personality—in her space. Maybe she'd find them the next time she cleaned the bathroom, and she'd toss them into the trash without a second thought. Or maybe she would discover them whenever she actually had the opportunity to enjoy her next bath. She would glance over and see them and silently curse Mulder for his odd habits and messy tendencies before getting out of the tub to collect and dispose of them immediately. Or. She'd leave them. Because she liked the reminder of his presence.

Mulder laughed out loud at the thought of Scully leaving a mess simply because he had made it. He wished. Oh, how he wished.

Mulder thought about Scully every second he was in the shower until he remembered what he'd said to Skinner about professionalism. There was a case to wrap up, after all. He knew as long as everything had worked out with the Canadian and his co-worker, there was only one person left to cure. Young Henry Aaron of Barstow, California. His plan was simple: give them ten years. He would buy the time with a lie that he knew would end up as the truth. There were a few other details to work out, but Mulder had already asked for Ansel Holmes' help before they'd parted ways the previous night. In fact, he should have already been in Barstow to deliver a letter as instructed by Mulder. Today, Mulder would pass on a similar letter to Henry.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted his conniving. "Mulder?"

"Yeah?" Mulder poked his head out of the shower to respond.

"Skinner's gone. We need to rush it up if we're going to get back out to Fairfax by noon, okay?" Scully asked through the bathroom door. She sighed, the thought of her wasted bath making her frown.

"Got it," Mulder's muffled response came back just before she heard the water stop.

Scully took a seat on the edge of her bed as she waited for Mulder to exit her bathroom. She glanced over to her closet where she had already chosen and pulled out a skirt and blouse to wear. She was in no mood for a suit.

After a moment, the bathroom door opened and Mulder walked out in only a pair of dress slacks as he towel-dried his soaking-wet hair. Scully smiled in instant appreciation of his hustle… and maybe in inadvertent admiration of his fresh-from-the-shower-shirtless hotness.

"Sorry about your bath," he greeted her. "And for leaving you to handle Skinner."

"Not a problem. On either front," she assured him as she stood and stepped toward the bathroom.

"Hey, uh…" he hesitated with his question because he didn't want her to think he was up to anything… unless he actually was… which he wasn't… at the moment.

She paused, waiting. "Mulder, we're a little crunched for time here—"

"Exactly. Which is why I was wondering if it would it be okay if—I mean, I still need to shave and brush my teeth and—"

"I'll call you once I'm in the shower," she said, glad she'd picked out an opaque curtain for the rod she'd only recently installed around her tub.

Mulder stood outside the closed door, waiting patiently as he rubbed his hair from soggy to damp. When she called out her permission to enter, Mulder hesitated, but turned the bathroom door knob and re-entered. The shower was on and the room was steamy.

"I hope I didn't use too much hot water," Mulder said as he dug his toothpaste and toothbrush out of the bag he'd left on Scully's toilet.

"My water heater refills pretty quickly," she replied as she opened her shampoo bottle. She massaged the thick liquid into her hair and thought how it should feel strange to converse with her partner while she was completely naked in her shower. On the contrary, it felt familiar. Granted, her modesty was protected while she was hidden behind her shower curtain—that probably helped—but she still felt comfortable; this still felt normal.

As Mulder brushed, spat and rinsed, he could smell the scent of Scully's shampoo float out with the steam. He inhaled deeply, feeling he was stealing some intimate detail without permission. He supposed her approval of his presence was consent enough. Everything about this situation should have felt awkward, but, instead, it was easy. They could have been an old married couple, their modesty long ago dissolved. Except that was probably only an allusion afforded by a thin vinyl-and fabric divider. Mulder's thoughts wandered somewhere they shouldn't have as his eyes drifted to the shower curtain behind him. It gave nothing away—until Scully popped her head out. Mulder met her eyes through the mirror.

"Can you look under the sink and see if there's a new bottle of conditioner?" she requested as she hugged the curtain tightly across her body. "I'm all out in here."

Mulder stared at her through the mirror. Tiny rivers streamed from her water-darkened hair, down her forehead and over her flushed-red cheeks. Even as she blinked water out of her eyes, she was beautiful.

"Mulder?"

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, sorry." He bent down and looked under the cabinet. He found the bottle of conditioner then turned to hand it to her. She reached out for it, accidentally allowing the curtain to slip down just an inch lower. Mulder's eyes followed without meaning to, and he lost his grip on the bottle before Scully had a chance to secure hers. The conditioner dropped to the ground, but stayed closed. They both went to reach for it, but as Scully was restricted by the shower curtain, Mulder got there first. When he looked up, he found Scully, tangled in fabric and plastic, tumbling toward him.

As Scully leaned toward the conditioner bottle, she suddenly lost her footing and found herself falling. She gripped the curtain for balance, but all it did was slightly slow her inevitable plummet.

Mulder released the conditioner again and put his hands out in time to catch Scully around her waist. This time, when the bottle hit the floor, the flip cap popped open and the white goo oozed out onto the tiles so when Mulder stood up straight and tried to steady Scully, his foot hit conditioner and caused him to slip toward his partner instead. She landed against the shower wall—hard, but not enough to hurt. Mulder caught himself with hands on either side of her head, his nose just inches from hers, the now prophylactic shower curtain the only barrier between them and nothing to protect him from the water as it sprayed into the side of his head and down his still-bare chest.

"You okay?" Mulder whispered, out of breath from the incident itself and from the sheer closeness it had provided him.

Scully nodded as she watched the water drip from Mulder's lips, nose and eyelashes, suddenly aware of his forearms against her bare shoulders. Water was an excellent conductor for electricity, and the sparks she was feeling at this particular moment were a little more lively than normal. She glanced down, glad to find she was still mostly covered by her shower curtain, which was somehow still on its hooks, but getting more soaked by the second.

"Sorry," she breathed.

"You know, if you wanted me to join you, Scully," Mulder teased through a smile and without giving up an inch of intimacy, "all you had to do was ask."


	57. Rule?

**Author's Note:** This might be a little angsty, a little pointless and a lot short... but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same. Thanks IAmLoisLane for beta-ing. Thank you everyone else for reading and reviewing-you're far too kind. To my real life friends who offer their real life reminders that I need to update, I hope you know how Awesome you are :)

* * *

The road to Fairfax was becoming increasingly familiar to Mulder and Scully. Everything else surrounding them, however, was uncharted territory. Though not exactly awkward, there was certainly a new sort of tension burgeoning between them. They'd moved past it the night before on the Love-O-Matic—or had simply been too tired to fully recognize, categorize and debate it, but that morning, in the shower, their affinity for one another had been entirely too tangible to overlook. Not that they had acted on it.

Though he'd wanted to push it and had enjoyed so shamelessly flirting with her far more than any partner should, Mulder had known he needed to back off. Partly because she had been vulnerable, exposed and—quite literally—naked, but more because, when he'd seen his own affection and attraction returned in Scully's drippy-with-shower-water gaze, he'd freaked out. It was unprecedented… that level of awareness and acceptance from Scully. He'd made his quip, and she'd done absolutely nothing to deter him. He could have kissed her.

She could have kissed him. The physical barrier had been flimsy and the blockades of professionalism had been momentarily—but entirely—forgotten. The desire had been stronger than when she was on Ecstasy, and the thought had certainly been more cogent. Their chemistry, their compatibility, their completely complementary natures had been crystal clear to Scully. The expression he'd worn had been open and honest, and she had no doubt of what his desires were in that split second.

In the comfortable quite of the car, it was easy for them to indulge rather than deny these thoughts. In Scully's mind, that moment concluded with a long overdue kiss rather than with Mulder stumbling back out of the shower and moving on with his morning routine. Mulder's make-believe progressed much further and included action he wasn't quite sure even his fantasy version of Scully would allow in her tub-of-happiness.

"How about this weather we're having?" Scully finally forced out, needing to disengage her mind from unproductive romantic meanderings.

"Yeah, it's pretty crazy," Mulder replied, wondering if Scully had actually been pondering the weather while he'd been imagining sexy, sultry shower scenarios. Additionally, he had no clue if it was unseasonably warm or cold or if it had been raining frogs in D.C. and the surrounding areas.

"It's never this perfectly in-season in D.C." Scully observed.

Mulder chuckled. "It might be a sign that you've been working on the X-Files too long when you start to think that normal… is strange."

"Or that strange… is normal."

"Are you implying _I've_ been on the X-Files too long then?" Mulder's question teased.

"Isn't that what you were implying about me?" Scully asked back.

"Definitely not. In fact, I wish you would have arrived a little sooner," Mulder said with his eyes fixed on the road. The next part slipped out without much forethought. "Although, if I'd worked with you before Diana—before I had my 'don't date your partner' rule—I probably would've been hitting on you so hard that we would have never solved a single case anyway so maybe it's for the best."

"Wait. Back up," Scully instructed. "You have a 'don't date your partner' _rule_?"

"Anyone who's ever dated their partner has a 'don't date your partner' rule, Scully. That… or they're married to their former partner. I mean, it can really only go one of two ways."

"Bitter break-up or happily ever after," Scully concluded.

"Right. And the former doesn't exactly improve a partnership while the latter just… honestly… scares the hell out of me."

"Being happy scares you? You really do have some serious issues, Mulder."

"Not _being_ happy as much as… _not_ being happy," he tried to explain.

"I'm sorry, Mulder, but I haven't had enough sleep to understand how the change in emphasis causes the change in meaning."

"Living up to the other person's high expectations. Being for her what she is for me. _Maintaining_ our mutual happiness. Am I the kind of man that would do that?"

"If it was the right woman, Mulder, I don't think you would even have to try. You just… would," said the right—the only—woman.

Mulder smiled to himself as he considered her words. Her faith gave him confidence. Maybe he could make her happy. Maybe he _would_. The possibility of even the opportunity was thrilling to him.

Scully silently replayed the conversation. What had they really just said to one another? Had they been talking in general terms? It had started off quite specifically. His "don't date your partner" rule had been explicitly applied to her. That threw her for a loop. She'd never imagined a scenario where Mulder just didn't go for something he wanted—nor would she have ever imagined that "something" as… herself. But that had been a long time ago. Before they knew each other. Before they were friends. This was nothing more than the acknowledgement of the physical attraction she already knew they shared. The rest was just Mulder revealing a little personal information: an explanation for why he steered clear of long-term romantic relationships. But it wasn't applicable to her. Scully knew that if Mulder had ever genuinely been interested in her, he would have gone for it. And, if he ever happened to be interested in the future, he would go for it. Of course, she was a modern woman; she knew how to go for what she wanted, too. Except Mulder. She had no idea how to "go for" Mulder—especially when he had a rule about not dating his partner… which, six years later, she still was.

Behind the steering wheel, Mulder's thoughts were far less complex: rules were made to be broken.


	58. Too Cliche?

**Author's Note: **Hope you guys enjoy the chapter. Thanks for hanging around this long. There's still plenty more to come. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for the quick beta. Feedback is always appreciated.

* * *

During the remainder of their ride, Scully listened to Mulder make a pair of cryptic phone calls on the cellular phone he had attached to Scully's charger and plugged into the car's cigarette lighter. His own cord had been left in a rental car in a city he couldn't remember several months back, and he'd yet to order a new one despite the reminder Scully put on a sticky note next to his computer at work.

The first communication was to Ansel Holmes who had apparently completed whatever Mulder had tasked him with. The other call went out to a friend he had in the human resources department of the Los Angeles field office. Mulder somehow convinced the guy to hire Henry Aaron's mother as a records clerk. She was presently working as a secretary at the Barstow Police Department, and, according to what Mulder told his buddy, she was so extremely organized and efficient that the Bureau would be remiss not to snatch her right up. Evidently, the guy agreed because Mulder thanked him before he hung up.

"Your plan is to get Henry out of Barstow by getting his mom a job with the FBI?" Scully asked curiously when Mulder hung up the phone. "I don't see how that helps him."

"That part isn't for him. It's to give Katrina Weiss a little peace of mind. I'd like her to know she can return to her job without having to pass Henry in the hall every day."

"So… what are you going to do for Henry?"

"Remember how Meredith and I told you and Nathan that Beau Ford said he always knew he'd be with his high school sweetheart? That he didn't get sick until that possibility was taken away from him? Or how Jim Mason told us he no longer felt any distress because there was an inevitability surrounding his potential relationship with Leah Conners? In both cases, their health improved once the safety net was in place, right?

"I suppose, but we can't do the same thing for Henry Aaron, Mulder."

"Can't we?" Mulder questioned mysteriously as he pulled into the Fairfax Medical Complex's parking garage.

When they arrived at the hospital, Mulder was not at all surprised that they found an exhausted-looking, but smiling Leah Conners at Jim Mason's bedside, that Savannah Stevens was snuggled up with Beau Ford right there in his hospital bed or that Meredith and Nathan were waiting in their lab to report that both men were on their way to a full recovery.

Scully wasn't too surprised either, but she had to at least fake a little skepticism. "You're sure there are no lingering effects?"

"I'm sure." Nathan shrugged. "I can't explain it, but… I'm sure."

Meredith glanced from Mulder to Scully. "Your boss was looking for you two this morning. I had my phone off the hook, but apparently he got through to Nathan."

"Our cellular phones were out of juice, and Scully had the answering service on," Mulder explained.

Meredith glanced at Scully with a knowing smile. Nathan astutely followed her gaze. When Scully met his look, though she noticed an unexpected benevolence in his eyes, she still couldn't help a blush as she averted her eyes to her partner.

"We've spoken to the Assistant Director, and he's up to speed," Scully said. "Now, I think all that's left is for Agent Mulder to clue the rest of us in on his plan for Henry Aaron."

The group turned to Mulder, but he was already headed out the lab door. Across the hall, they caught up with him just before he entered the private room to which Henry had been moved. He did an about face.

"I almost forgot. There should be a fax coming in from Ansel Holmes to your fax number, Dr. Foster."

"What?" Nathan questioned simply.

"I'll go check for it," Meredith said as she hustled toward her office.

"I said there should be a—"

"I heard you just fine, Agent Mulder, but what I guess I meant to ask is 'why?'"

"You really have no sense of drama, do you?"

Meredith chuckled as she entered her office down the hall.

"Right. Because what I really need right now is _not_ coffee or sleep or even a solution to this one final problem," Nathan mocked. "What I really need is _drama_."

"Wow, Doc, sarcasm? I didn't know you had it in you."

Next to him, Mulder could hear Scully sigh as she touched her elbow gently to his, a silent direction for him to play nice.

"Anyhow," Mulder tempered his tone, "when Dr. Foster gets back with my fax, I'll be glad to explain my… fix."

Meredith exited her office with the fax in hand. She passed it off to Mulder who turned back toward Henry's room.

"I didn't read it," Meredith confessed. "I personally like a little drama."

Mulder grinned at her then nodded for the group to follow him. Nathan looked to Scully who only shrugged and went in after Mulder.

As they entered the room, Henry had his eyes closed as if he were asleep, but they quickly popped open as he tried to fight against the restraints on his wrists. His look was wild.

"The sedatives have worn off," Nathan stated the obvious.

"Hi, Henry," Meredith said gently. "Do you know where you are?"

"Of course, I do. I'm locked up while Katrina is all alone."

"Must we keep putting him through this?" Nathan asked Scully.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" Henry asked Mulder. "To tell me how I still can't be with Katrina? Because you might be able to keep us apart, but I'm in love with her, and there's nothing anyone can do about that."

"We don't want to do anything about that, Henry," Mulder promised.

"You don't?" he asked, confused.

"Of course, not," Scully said tentatively. "We're all entitled to our own feelings."

Henry looked her over, a bit calmer. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dana. And Mulder there is my partner. We're with the FBI."

"FBI? Is something wrong? Did something happen to Ms. Weiss?" Henry begged Scully for an answer.

"She's fine," Scully assured him.

"You promise?"

"Of course, we do," Mulder interjected. "We saw her a few days ago. She wanted you to know that she's okay and that she'll keep herself safe."

Henry relaxed again. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Very," Mulder agreed. "But you understand why you can't be with her?"

"Because _they_ have me locked up?" Henry said with a wry smile and a nod toward Meredith and Nathan.

Mulder smirked, but then sobered to say, "No. Because of your age difference."

"That… that just isn't fair," Henry complained. "It's not like I'm a child."

"She would be fired if she were with you," Mulder said reasonably.

Henry nodded. "I get that. I just… I wish we'd met later in life… when it wouldn't have mattered so much."

Mulder chuckled. "We think alike, Henry."

Meredith, Nathan and Scully watched Mulder pull the fax from his jacket pocket.

"See this?" Mulder pointed at the thin piece of paper.

"Yeah?"

"It's from Ms. Weiss."

"What is it?"

"Well, it's an agreement. Sort of like a contract."

"You mean a promise?" Henry asked with a hopeful smile.

"Yeah, sure. A 'promise.'"

"Mulder, I thought we all agreed that it would be inappropriate—"

"We agreed it would be wrong for them to be together now, Scully. But in ten years—"

"In ten years, he'll be twenty-six," Scully argued, but then tilted her head in consideration. A twenty-six-year-old man with an older woman didn't seem nearly as improper. In fact, trade it around to an older man and a twenty-six-year-old woman, and it felt more than a little familiar to Scully. She spoke again, but her tone was more agreeable, a realization. "In ten years… he'll be twenty-six."

"So… I can be with her? I just have to wait ten years?" Henry asked, his smile brightening his entire face.

Meredith and Nathan stood silently in the background as they shared a curious glance.

"Well, what this says," Mulder pointed to the fax and explained, "is that you won't see her for ten years. You won't even live in Barstow—"

"But, my mom—"

"Is about to be offered a new job in L.A.," Mulder told him. "So if you can keep it together for the next ten years, Katrina will meet you, and the two of you can see if whatever's between you stands the test of time."

"It will," Henry said with certainty.

"The time and place are named in this document—"

"Where is it?" Henry asked.

Mulder cleared his throat before announcing, "Top of the Empire State Building. Valentine's Day. In one decade—give or take."

Meredith and Scully both laughed.

"What?" Mulder asked innocently.

"The top of the Empire State Building, Mulder?"

"Too cliché?"

"Too… Sleepless in Seattle," Scully responded.

"I thought you liked that movie."

"Well, that's hardly relevant," Scully dismissed.

"I've always wanted to go to New York," Henry said obliviously.


	59. Without Benefits?

**Author's Note: **As I'm releasing this chapter shortly after the previous one, please make sure you've read the previous chapter. We can call this a little 'bonus chapter' since it's relatively short, but released during the week rather than my usual weekend deal. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for her quick beta and advice. To the rest of you wonderful people, thank you for reading, favoriting, following and especially reviewing.

* * *

A few hours later, after helping Meredith and Nathan with a few final tests and a mountain of hospital paperwork, Scully called in to inform Skinner that the case had been resolved with the recovery of all patients. He said he expected the report on his desk in the morning, but Scully requested an extension considering she and Mulder had been running on fumes for days. Skinner agreed to a three day extension, one of which would be a day off for both Mulder and Scully. He had also apparently enacted his "don't ask; don't tell" policy because he made no embarrassing accusations or inquiries regarding the personal lives of his agents. Instead, he told Scully to get some rest and thanked her for her tireless pursuit on this one. She was extremely grateful for her boss' re-found professionalism because it was something she found herself lacking each time her mind drifted to her partner.

While Scully worked, Mulder hung out in Henry's room. His condition had improved tremendously. The handsome young man had been released from his restraints and allowed to change out of his hospital gown and into some jeans and a t-shirt. His spirits had lifted even more after Mulder had spoken to his mother and hooked her up with the FBI's relocation department. When Henry returned to California in a week, it would be to a new apartment in Los Angeles.

When there was nothing left to work out, Mulder sat by Henry's bedside as they talked a little about love and a lot about the FBI. It turned out Henry had quite an avid interest in law enforcement… and the supernatural.

"Seriously, they conjured up their own golem? Right there in the suburbs?"

"Yep," Mulder said with a smile.

"And it was made out of trash?"

Mulder chuckled. "Basically."

"But Agent Scully didn't see it?"

"Nope."

"Just like she didn't see the aliens in Antarctica?"

"Just like," Mulder answered.

Henry was silent for a second. "Did you guys sleep together?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, in the suburbs. You were pretending to be married, right?"

"I took the couch."

"Because you're a gentleman?"

"Because Scully told me I was taking the couch."

"But, like, you two are just friends?"

"Uh… we're partners," Mulder replied.

"So, like, friends _without_ benefits."

Mulder laughed. "Sounds about right."

"And you're cool with that?"

"Of course," Mulder lied.

Henry smirked. "You know you're a terrible liar, right?"

Mulder chuckled, but opted not to incriminate himself further. He wasn't going to admit to a sixteen-year-old that he wanted not only "benefits" from Scully, but anything else she was willing to give him. Love would be especially nice.

When the pizza he'd ordered arrived, Mulder was glad their talk turned back to monsters and bad guy take downs. He didn't want to think about Scully in her robe and (admittedly scary) green beauty mask, kicking him onto the couch during their undercover operation in The Falls any more than he wanted to admit that "friends without benefits" was an all-too-perfect description of their current situation.

While Mulder bonded, Meredith and Nathan transferred Devon Woodcomb to the psychiatric ward where he would be on suicide watch. Chuck Carmichael, Beau Ford and Jim Mason were all released into the care of their soul mates. Father O'Shea seemed sad, but resigned to carry on God's work, and was also allowed to check himself out. Scully helped all parties book plane tickets to wherever they planned to go to begin their forever-changed lives.

When everything was wrapped up and resolved, the quartet of agents and doctors was surprised to find itself lounging together in the waiting room.

"I still don't understand much of this," Nathan said, "but I'm sure glad it's over."

"Can't say I disagree with that one," Meredith declared.

Mulder and Scully nodded in silent agreement.

"Ten years, though," Nathan said with a shake of his head. "That sure is a long time to wait."

"But it's something worth waiting for, don't you think?" Meredith asked him.

Nathan glanced at her, a smile playing easily on his lips. "Absolutely."

"So, listen," Mulder broke in, "I know we're all tired, but I was thinking… how about a celebratory dinner?"

"Tonight?" Scully asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Why not?" Mulder asked with a shrug. "One last double date. Just the four of us."

Everyone looked around at one another.

"I think that would be nice," Nathan agreed. "We should go to that place we went last week, Dana. You know, end where we started."

Scully smiled. Full circle. She liked the sound of that. It was so unlike the never ending chase she was on with Mulder. The image of a certain tattoo flashed through her mind, and when she glanced at Mulder, she saw his eyes slip down toward her back. She knew, even if it was a pursuit she'd continue endlessly and for all time, she'd keep going round and round with him because if she stopped, he might get away. Or worse, he—the ever-mobile Mulder—might stop, too.

"Scully?" Mulder asked.

"Hm?" she asked, blinking to bring on her return from the mental vacation.

"Dinner? Six? Sound good?"

"Um, okay, sure. Why not?" Scully agreed.

"Meredith?" Nathan asked.

The least enthusiastic of the group, Meredith put on a fake smile and nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Awesome."


	60. Happy Ending?

**Author's Note:** I know, I know, it's been awhile, but the chapter is longer than normal so I hope that makes up for the delay. I figure by the 60th chapter of a fanfic, a lovable pair of work colleagues needs to realize their true feelings, kiss and run away together. Oops, spoiler alert. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for squeezing in some beta time for me. Thanks so much to everyone for reading. And, fear not, more chapters to come :)

* * *

"Double date?" the pretty, probably-in-college hostess asked when Mulder got to the restaurant at 5:45 sharp and checked in under the reservation for four Scully had promised she'd make when he'd dropped her off at her apartment.

"Uh huh."

"With the lady who made the reservation? Ms. Scully?" she questioned further as she led Mulder to a four-top table in the middle of the restaurant.

"Uh… yeah," Mulder replied absently as he tugged on the sleeve of the white button-up shirt he'd chosen to wear with a pair of black dress slacks.

"She's got red hair, right?"

Mulder nodded as they reached the table.

"Kind of short? Totally gorgeous?"

"That's Scully," Mulder replied as he took a seat.

"Well, good luck," the hostess said with a wink as she handed him a menu and headed back to her station.

Mulder nodded a thank you as he caught sight of a gorgeous, kind-of-short redhead making her way into the restaurant.

When Scully walked in, she cringed as she was met by the same chipper hostess who had accompanied her to her blind date with Nathan the previous week.

"Hi. Welcome back!"

"Hello," Scully greeted.

"Okay, this guy… way better than last week."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't get me wrong, blind date guy was hot, but this guy is tall and… mysterious."

Scully smiled to herself. Mulder.

"I mean, he's just… a total fox."

Scully coughed back a laugh as the hostess took her to the table.

"You look lovely tonight, by the way," the young woman complimented Scully as they walked. "Different from last week, but good different."

Scully suddenly felt shy in the spaghetti-strapped black dress she'd taken from a hanger buried so deep in her closet she'd almost forgotten it was there. When her hand had accidentally landed on it and she'd pulled it out, she'd known there was no way she could relinquish it to the moth balls ever again. Now though, she doubted her choice. Was she too exposed? Too straightforward? Would Mulder too easily discover this effort was all for him—only for him?

Then they were at the table, and it was too late to run. Mulder, ever the gentleman, was up quickly to pull her chair out. The hostess gave Scully a sly smile before placing another menu on the table and taking her leave.

"I've never imagined you in a little black dress before, Scully," Mulder said as he helped Scully scoot her chair up to the table. Then he leaned a little closer and spoke a little softer, "But maybe I should have because… you look… amazing."

She couldn't even muster up a "thank you," and her blush was so deep it set her neck and ears on fire before creeping lightly across her cheeks. She felt the urge to fan herself with the menu, but instead she buried her face in it in an effort to regain her cool. In the seconds it took Mulder to get back to his side of the table, she felt the flush drain and her composure return.

"You and the hostess looked friendly before. What were you talking about?" Mulder asked out of curiosity when he'd slipped back into his chair.

Scully peeked over the menu at him.

"What?" Mulder wanted to know.

"We were discussing her observation that you're tall… and mysterious."

"Whereas you're kind of short… and gorgeous."

Scully arched an eyebrow.

"Her words. Not mine," he defended.

Her smile was subtle, but amused as she turned her gaze back to her menu.

"I think she may have thought we were on a date together," Mulder observed.

"I got that feeling also," Scully agreed then furrowed her brow. "I mean, from her. I got that feeling from her… that she thought that… about us."

"I didn't correct her," said Mulder.

"Neither did I," Scully replied as she glanced over the list of salads. "I thought it would be easier to let her figure it out herself whenever Nathan and Meredith arrive… which… where are they, I wonder? It must be after six by now."

"Maybe they ran off together," Mulder offered.

"Is that why you suggested this?" Scully asked. "Because you think they're really soul mates, and you want to help Ansel Holmes with his reunification agenda?"

"If I said yes, would you be okay with it?"

"Of course," Scully answered honestly. If Mulder had some idea about pushing Meredith and Nathan together, she was all for it. "If I'm being honest, I'm okay with—in fact, I may even like it—when stories end… happily."

"But you must want that for yourself, too."

"Do _you_?" Scully inquired, curious about Mulder's new whimsical side.

Mulder thought a moment before he said, "Yes. I want a happy ending."

"For us, Mulder, happy endings happen every time we solve a case or save a life."

"Do you want to trade seats? Because I feel like I'm on the wrong side of this argument," Mulder said as he propped up his chin.

"I'm just saying that I don't need a fairytale. That's all."

"I never said 'need;' I said 'want.'"

"Whatever I want," Scully started carefully, "I don't want it with Nathan… so I'm perfectly fine with whatever plan you've got brewing. Trust me."

"You know I do."

She knew he did… and with so much more than just the accuracy of that one statement. She _didn't_ know, though, how to put anything she knew or felt or suspected into words or what it would mean even if she did.

"And now it's your turn to trust me, Scully," Mulder said as his eyes wandered across the restaurant. "And don't be afraid to follow my lead."

Scully turned in her seat and found Nathan and Meredith following the hostess through the restaurant. "Why, what exactly are you planning?"

"You'll see," Mulder whispered just before the others got there. He rose to his feet.

"Here they are," the hostess said, looking around at the foursome with a confused tilt of her head. "So… who's with who here?"

Mulder and Scully traded a smile at her confusion.

"Oh, we're all together," Nathan said, adjusting his blue tie and unbuttoning the jacket of his pin-striped navy suit.

"Uh… oh. Okay," the hostess said with a frown as she tossed down two more menus before she made a quick getaway back to her station. "Enjoy your meal… and your evening."

"What was that about?" Nathan asked Scully as he took the seat next to her.

Scully shrugged.

"Meredith, damn. You look beautiful. Get over here," Mulder said with a glance down at Meredith's red halter dress and heels. He took her hand and led her to the empty chair next to his seat.

"What the hell are you doing?" Meredith whispered through her teeth as Mulder pushed her chair under the table.

He answered with a smile that projected lasciviousness, but was underlined with reassuring innocence. He leaned in and placed a soft peck on her cheek. "You'll thank me later."

Meredith shot up. "I need a drink."

"I'll go with you," Mulder said as he followed her over to the bar.

Scully watched Mulder catch up with Meredith at the bar. She'd deduced by then that his plan was to somehow make Nathan envious by flirting with and fawning over Meredith. This information was not enough to ease the jealousy she herself felt when she observed Mulder walk his fingers down Meredith's spine until his hand settled gingerly against the small of her back.

"So," Nathan began, his tone desperate to make conversation as his eyes were set on his own partner across the room, "does it infuriate you?"

"Does what infuriate me?" she asked, infuriated only by the fact that Mulder's hand had not moved from Meredith's back.

"How well your partner is able to solve and settle things with complete disregard for hard facts? Do you ever just want to throw your hands in the air and say 'to hell with science'?"

"No," Scully said, though she understood his perspective. She turned to him with a smile. "I think my science makes my already brilliant partner that much better."

"And do you think that he sometimes makes you better, too?"

"I know he does. All the time," Scully answered.

"Yeah..." Nathan sighed as his gaze flitted back to the bar. He narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said that wasn't going to work."

Scully let her eyes drift to the eccentric pair across the room. She shrugged.

"They're not at all complementary," Nathan continued.

Scully laughed. Complementary. With an e.

"What?" Nathan asked.

"I was just thinking that you're right. Meredith and Mulder won't work. She needs someone more… scientific."

"Exactly," he said with certainty, but then his look faltered as realization snuck up on him. "Huh."

Across the room, Meredith and Mulder waited for their drinks.

"I don't approve of this at all," Meredith told Mulder as she leaned against the tall bar top.

"Why not?" Mulder wondered as he leaned toward her and ran a finger along the hairline of her up-do, pushing a few strands of her blonde locks behind her ear.

"Because it's manipulative, for one thing."

"You're just afraid."

"'Course I am. I'm afraid. I'm right terrified, actually... and I'm not ready to do this. I don't even know if I want to do this."

"You're not in love with him?"

"_You're_ not in love with _her_?"

Mulder opened his mouth, but didn't speak as the bartender brought their drinks… two shots of some Australian whiskey of which Mulder had never heard. Meredith took the shot then turned back to Mulder. "Well?"

"Of course," he said almost inaudibly before sucking back the burning liquid. "Of course, I'm in love with her." He couldn't believe he'd admitted it… out loud.

"Then why—"

"Because I'm not sure how she feels about me."

"It's the same with Nathan. It's the uncertainty of it," Meredith explained. "Our work is a constant and wonderful portion of my life—hell, it _is_ my life. If he doesn't return my feelings then—"

"Please," Mulder cut her off, "he returns your feelings, okay? The mental connection is a given, and as for everything else… the guy hasn't taken his eyes off you for a second since we left the table."

Meredith glanced over. Mulder followed her gaze and found Nathan watching her with an unabashed expression of concern and affection. Next to him, Scully caught Mulder's eye and gave him a nod. Mulder smiled at her across the room. Of course, he was in love with her.

"Whatever. You know what? We can do this your way. Come on," Meredith grabbed Mulder's hand and dragged him back to the table.

A bottle of wine, an appetizer and a round of salads later, the group sat in tense silence as Mulder fed Meredith a cucumber slice from his own fork. Scully and Nathan looked on in self-muted disgust.

"I don't think that's sanitary, Mulder," Scully commented sterilely.

"If a little saliva on a fork is the only bodily fluid we swap tonight—"

"I'm sorry, but that's just entirely out-of-bounds," Nathan said evenly. "And disrespectful."

"Oh, relax, Nathan," Meredith insisted.

"Relax? How can I relax?" Nathan questioned her with visible irritation. "We're only on the salad course, and you're practically in his lap. By the time our meals are served, the two of you may be up on the table—"

"Now who's out-of-bounds?" Mulder asked him.

"Still you," Nathan replied sharply.

Scully put a gentle hand on Nathan's sleeve, but he pulled his arm away.

"I'm sorry. I'm confused," Meredith said sharply. "You're the one who wanted me to go out with Agent Mulder, right?"

"Yes, I thought you'd have a lot in common, but—"

"So you want me to date him… you just don't want me to enjoy his… company?"

"I just want you to act appropriately."

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. He gave her a furtive smile and nod. This was going exactly as he'd hoped. Scully sighed, but smiled back. She supposed the inevitable end justified the means, but he'd never gain her full approval.

"You think we've been acting inappropriately?" Meredith demanded. "Well, how's _this_ for inappropriate?"

Out of nowhere, Meredith grabbed Mulder by the shirt and pulled him over for a kiss. It was a full-speed-ahead, rock-your-socks sort of kiss that Mulder had to force himself not to fight. After a few seconds, Meredith finally released him, but he kept his eyes shut. He fully anticipated a good hard blow to the face after that one, but when he finally got the guts to open his eyes, he saw Nathan getting up from the table. Meredith folded her arms and sat back in her chair with smug satisfaction on her face.

"I'm sorry, Dana, I can't… I have to go," Nathan stammered out.

Scully nodded.

"You're okay to get home?" he leaned in to ask.

"I'm fine," she said, the words sounding much more convincing than Mulder was used to.

Nathan turned and walked away from the table. Meredith slumped forward in her chair. Her smugness dissipated as she covered her face with her hands. "This is bloody ridiculous."

"You should go talk to him," Scully advised.

Meredith sat up and looked Scully in the eye. She nodded. "Yeah."

After Meredith stood and hurried out of the restaurant, Mulder turned to Scully and said, "Well, I have to say, I didn't expect that."

"I could tell. It kind of reminded me of that time Sheila Fontaine laid one on you."

Mulder grinned. "Less lipstick."

Scully shook her head to dismiss the joke, but she couldn't block the smile.

"Hey, look," Mulder nodded toward the front window of the restaurant where Nathan walked briskly until Meredith caught up with and stopped him.

"Happy ending?" Scully wondered.

"I don't know. I guess we'll find out," Mulder nodded back to the window.

On the sidewalk, Nathan seemed calmer. Meredith was closer.

"What do you think they're saying?" Scully asked.

"'Why would you lay your lips on that stupid FBI agent when you've got this hulky, handsome Dr. Perfect at your beck and call?'" Mulder suggested in a voice reminiscent of Cary Grant. He continued to give a semi-Australian sound to Meredith, "'You may be perfect, but _he's_ tall and mysterious.'"

"Oh, Mulder," Scully commented through soft laughter, "maybe you should leave the accents to me."

"Be my guest," Mulder agreed and nodded back to the window.

"Okay," Scully chewed her lip as they watched the window like a silent movie screen. She spoke in a pretty decent Australian accent, "'You may be Dr. Perfect, but we're perfect for each other… mate.'"

"Not bad," Mulder commented then spoke as Nathan's face softened and he moved his lips behind the window, "'Wait, my logical, rational brain is having trouble processing your out-of-bounds, inappropriate actions. You don't have romantic feelings for… Fox?'"

"'Well, he's a pretty good snogger,'" Scully supplied as Meredith smiled and took a step up to Nathan.

"'But I'm perfect.'"

"'You _are_ perfect… for me,'" Scully spoke as she glanced over at Mulder.

"'Then what have we been waiting for?'" Mulder filled in for Nathan as he turned away from Meredith.

"'I guess we've been waiting for _this_. The right moment,'" Scully suggested.

Nathan smiled to himself and turned slowly back to Meredith.

"'Let's see who's really a better snogger!'" Mulder declared in voice that was starting to sound a little like Captain Kirk.

"They're not going to kiss," Scully said with certainty… just before Nathan grabbed Meredith's shoulders and pushed his lips into her.

"No, they're definitely not going to kiss," Mulder agreed sarcastically.

"Shut up," Scully responded playfully as she turned away from the window and picked up her glass of wine. "Ansel Holmes will be so pleased."

Mulder poured himself a glass of wine so they could toast "to Ansel Holmes."

Scully clinked her glass into his, "To our fairy God penguin."

Before they could sip from their glasses, Meredith and Nathan rushed back over to the table.

"We're so sorry," Meredith began.

"I thought you stormed off," Mulder said to Nathan whose red cheeks and dumb-founded smile would have given him away even if Mulder and Scully hadn't been witness to his snog-fest.

"We worked it out," Meredith replied hurriedly. "Anyway—"

"Anyway," Nathan cut in, "something's come up—"

"I bet it has," Mulder said.

"At the hospital," Meredith continued.

Nathan nodded. "So we've got to—"

"Go," Meredith finished. "Sorry. We're just… so sorry."

"We understand," Scully said with a friendly smile.

"Have fun," Mulder shouted after them as they practically ran from the restaurant.

"Wow" was all Scully could manage.

"So… it's a happy ending then?" Mulder asked.

"I'd take it," Scully replied.

"With him?"

"No. Not with him."

"I'd take it, too," Mulder agreed.

"With her?"

"No. Definitely not with her."

They shared a look and understood each other completely. Each was the other's happy ending. Some day. Some time. But not this this day. Not this time.

Their waiter interrupted their unspoken conversation as he walked up with a tray containing four entrees. Mulder sighed.

"I hope you're hungry, Scully."


	61. Fox Mantle?

**Author's Note:** For anyone who honestly thought I'd leave this story where the last chapter ended... I mean, seriously? I would never do such a thing :) Thanks for sticking around even after my little fake out there in the last chapter. It was a dirty trick, I know. A special and huge thank you to my beta reader IAmLoisLane. You know why. And now... because the next eight chapters are all really short, I'll be posting up one chapter per day from Sunday (today) until next Sunday. I hope you enjoy this over saturation and feel free to review away. I won't author note any for awhile so it'll be pure story. Oh, yeah, and if it's been awhile since you've seen The Unnatural, I HIGHLY recommend you take a gander at the first and last scenes again even before you read this chapter. Or, at the very least, go read the transcript online. See you every day for the next week... or so I hope :)

* * *

It had been a strange week, to say the least. After he and Scully had parted ways at the restaurant, Mulder had spent the rest of the night and his following day off wandering around his apartment, wondering how this solitary life had ever seemed like anything near enough. The two subsequent days in the basement of the FBI had been dedicated to paperwork—at least, on the surface.

In his head, Mulder had been working out a plan to get Scully to hang out with him on Saturday. It had been a cheap trick, but he'd used work as an excuse—even if it had been work that Mulder had done himself years ago when he'd first started working on the X-Files. He'd been shocked when she'd agreed to help him research Roswell via archived newspapers that he'd hoped were actually still housed in the FBI as he'd told her, let alone that she'd actually shown up. He'd also been more than a little turned on by the overt flirtation that arose over an innocent non-fat Tofutti Rice Dreamsicle.

But Mulder was Mulder, and Arthur Dales versus the alien bounty hunter was hard to resist. That, and as he stood there with her, grappling for a bite of the oddly appealing frozen treat, _she_ was also hard to resist. He didn't know if he even _could_ resist her, and because that scared the hell out of him, he snatched the article and made a run for it.

Scully stared at the empty doorway for several seconds. She knew she shouldn't ever be surprised by Mulder's behavior, but she could conjure up no other emotion. The only alternate possibility was anger, but she wasn't. At all. She'd been all too willing to show up on a Saturday to help her partner… with very little details about what they'd be doing or why. Yet she wasn't at all annoyed that her task was to haul volumes of Roswell newspapers from the FBI archives all the way down to Mulder in their basement office. She wasn't even mad that he left her there with no explanation of where he was headed because between their cliché hurling and Dreamsicle sparring, Scully had not bothered to maintain her normal professionalism… in the slightest. She tried to cut herself a little slack, though.

It had been a long week, to say the least. Scully had been tired even before she'd walked up and down the stairs leading to the office twenty or so times. It was actually quite fortunate that Mulder had run out with his own little piece of defaced government property in hand and absolutely no explanation of where he was going. The rebel. Scully had counted it as a blessing. It would be good for her to take some time to herself, some time to think… even if it was mostly (only) about Mulder.

She stopped by her favorite mall on the way home, in need of a new pair of sneakers. She wandered around aimlessly and found nothing suitable, though her heart wasn't in the quest. She did, however, see a much-too-expensive suede coat that immediately caught her attention. She noticed it was the exact shade of olive green Mulder's hazel eyes turned when he wore anything close to brown. Then she scoffed at the thought. His _eyes_? She was really looking at a jacket and thinking about his eyes? This had to stop. She bought the jacket and headed home.

Upon arriving at her apartment, Scully decided she desperately needed to decompress and focus on herself. She called her answering service and requested they only call with high priority messages. God forbid Mulder lay dying in a ditch somewhere while she soaked in her own personal happiest place on earth. Everything—everyone—else, though, could wait.

As Scully sat on the edge of the tub, waiting for it to fill, she noticed the sunflower seeds she'd left under her sink—_his_ sunflower seeds. She leaned a little closer as she discovered that what had been just a few seeds was now a small handful; she counted at least ten. Had they spilled out of his pocket again as he disrobed for his latest shower… falling into the exact same spot as the others? It seemed unlikely. The alternate hypothesis was that they'd been purposefully placed there by Mulder: a silent and secret message meant for her to find. But was it a joke telling her she'd been caught enjoying the hint of his presence… or was it a statement of returned appreciation? She might have tried to decide except that her bath was ready.

Two refills of hot water, one glass of wine and an hour later, Scully felt much more relaxed. In fact, she had almost nodded off when the phone rang.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

Scully reluctantly climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself as she made her way to the telephone in her bedroom. She picked up just in time. "Hello?"

"Agent Scully?" the familiar voice of the girl from the answering service greeted her with an unusually bright tone.

"Yes?"

"Agent Scully, I'm sorry to bother you, but you asked me to call with any high priority messages…"

"Yes, go ahead."

"Well, this caller asked that his message be marked urgent."

"Uh huh," Scully replied, already suspicious. "And who was the caller?"

"He said… Fox Mantle," Scully could hear the girl's smile.

"Mm hm," Scully said with an almost-amused sigh as she pulled her towel a little tighter around her body. "Go ahead with the message."

"Mr.—um—Mantle requested you that you go down to the park—he said you'd know which one—for a very special, very early or very late… birthday present."

"I see," Scully said with a scoff that was also part chuckle.

"Agent Scully?" asked the girl.

"Yes? Was there more to the message?"

"Not on the record."

"But _off_ the record?" asked Scully.

"He said to make sure you show up," the girl told Scully. "And he sounded really excited. Like… a kid at Christmas excited."

"So… not an 'I'm dead in a ditch' excited?" Scully asked in a mumbled tone.

"What was that, Agent?"

"Nothing. Thank you for the message."

"No problem. And, Agent Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Have fun."

Scully sighed and hung up the phone. What the hell was Mulder up to? She supposed there was only one way to find out, but if there wasn't a nicely wrapped package waiting for her at the park, Fox Mantle would definitely be striking out.


	62. Dessert?

When Mulder left Arthur Dales' place, he had a lot of priorities, but none involved spaceships or the FBI. He first stopped by his favorite sports apparel store just a few blocks from Dales' apartment and easily found a Homestead Grays jersey sporting the name and number of Josh Gibson. The team, though originally from Pittsburgh, had adopted D.C. as a home-away-from-home, and Gibson had been a star player in the late 30s and early 40s.

Roswell Grays… Homestead Grays. Josh Exley… Josh Gibson. Details. Mulder, though still surprisingly skeptical about much of Dales' story, was still in love with it. The idea of love fundamentally changing a person spoke to him at that moment. He also loved baseball and was thrilled to learn that he could rent a pitching machine from the same shop to be delivered to a location of his choice. He could even pay the shop owner's kid ten bucks an hour to shag balls. He set up his delivery for later that night to a park Scully knew then headed for the grocery store.

Baseball was just the appetizer. For the main course, Mulder decided on salad. He'd known Scully to eat a variety of things over the years, but he didn't want to insult the healthy kick she was on lately by bringing something like pizza. Besides, he wanted to make something himself since the pancakes were such a hit, and he figured it would be fairly difficult to fail at salad assembly. While deciding on a head of lettuce (maybe salads weren't as easy as he'd suspected), he overheard a few forty-something soccer mom types chatting about how fruits were the new vegetables and nuts were the new croutons. Interesting. He hated to chat up women at the grocery store; it was such a cliché, but he thought he had the right intentions and an acceptable approach.

"Excuse me, ladies?"

They looked over, both wearing inquisitive expressions.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, and I'm making salad for someone I'm hoping to impress," Mulder explained.

"What sort of someone?" Karen asked curiously.

"A woman," Mulder admitted, chagrined.

The ladies, Karen and Paula, smiled knowingly at one another then proceeded to assist and instruct Mulder. Once they'd rounded up all the required salad ingredients and explained exactly how to prepare each, they took him down the dressing aisle and chose a few suitable options. Karen then asked about dessert.

"She eats pretty healthy so I don't know if dessert is required," Mulder guessed.

Karen and Paula glanced at one another before Karen spoke, "You're making dessert."

"But—"

"She won't turn it down," Paula promised. "She might refuse at first…"

"But you're going to make my grandmother's brownies, and, trust me, she'll love them," Karen assured him.

"Then she'll love you," Paula added.

"And brownies are the key to that?"

"These brownies are that good," Karen said in a tone that only partially sounded like a joke.

Mulder looked at them both as they stood before him, older, wiser and much more womanly. What could he do but take their advice? "They better be outta this world."


	63. Betty Crocker?

After the baseball, after his hands had led her hips, after the deliberate flirting and carefree cuddling his lesson in swinging had afforded, after the sports shop owner had collected his machine and his son, after Scully had lingered on first base and enjoyed the slight height advantage it gave her, after Mulder had disappeared to his car then reappeared with a picnic basket and blanket, after Scully had eaten Mulder's fruit-and-nut instead of veggie-and-crouton salad with a curious-turned-please smile, after a few glasses of wine, after everything had gone perfectly according to Mulder's plan… did he finally start to get nervous.

He really didn't know exactly why he'd put the night together, why he'd invited Scully there or just what he wanted to say to her now that he had the opportunity. All he knew was that it was more than simply something he wanted—it was something he had to have. Her company. Her approval. Her interest. Her.

"And now… dessert," Mulder said as he pulled out a nondescript brown paper lunch bag, folded over at the top.

"If there's a nonfat Tofutti Rice Dreamsicle in that bag," Scully said with a playful glint in her eye, "it could be love."

Mulder grinned, "Must be fate, Scully." He tossed the bag into her lap. "Brownies."

"Brownies?"

"Sort of the opposite of 'non-fat.'"

"Hmm." She peeked into the bag. Sure enough, there were two huge brownies at the bottom. "Store bought or Betty Crocker?"

"Scully," he told her in a tsk-tsk-tsk tone, "they're homemade."

Scully paired a tilted up chin with her eyebrow raise, molding her face into the perfect specimen of skepticism. "Made in the home of whom?"

Mulder laughed. "Ye of little faith. I made 'em in my apartment."

"I see," she said and folded the bag back down, closing it again.

"Oh, give me that." Mulder snatched the brown paper container and pulled out a brownie the size of his palm. He split it into two halves and pushed one out toward Scully as he took a bite of his own chocolaty chunk and spoke with a full mouth, "I made you a salad for dinner. You can have half a brownie for dessert."

Scully eyed her portion distrustfully. "It's really not the fat or calories I'm afraid of."

Mulder stared at her in disbelief until he saw one corner of her mouth pull into a smile, followed quickly by its partner on the other side. She took the brownie from his hand, her fingertips grazing his palm and turning his insides into something akin to brownie batter.

She expected the brownie to be decent and was giving him a hard time just for the entertainment value. She didn't believe for one second that these treats were made from scratch as he'd implied, and, anyway, how hard was it to dump a box into a bowl and follow the directions on the back? Even Mulder couldn't screw that up. But when she brought the gooey-cakey treat to her mouth, she was blown away. "Oh, God, Mulder. This is amazing."

Mulder polished off his half and watched Scully take another bite before he said, "I've gotten that reaction a lot in my life, but never over a baked good."

Scully rolled her eyes as she chewed and swallowed then asked, "Really?"

Mulder thought about it then nodded, but added, "Not so much in recent years, but I'm good with that."

"Haven't been impressing anyone lately, huh?" she asked lightheartedly.

"Other than myself, you mean?" he asked.

Scully only laughed.

"I haven't really been trying," he continued honestly. The only person he was interested in "impressing" was Scully, and as bold as he'd begun this night, his courage was starting to falter.

Scully bit her lip as she pulled the remainder of her dessert into two small pieces. She nibbled on one as she pondered the direction of this conversation. Were they really talking about Mulder's sex life or was it more innocent than that?

Mulder lay back on the picnic blanket and looked up at the starry sky. So often he had pondered the cosmos, the boundless possibilities there, what he'd lost. Tonight, though, he could appreciate nothing but the sheer beauty of the expanse before him.

"It's a beautiful night," Scully commented.

"That it is, Agent Scully. That… it… is."


	64. Everything?

After it was clear Mulder wasn't planning to abandon his star-gazing any time soon, Scully cleaned up the remnants of their picnic and stowed them in the basket to clear space on the blanket for herself. She lay back, a foot or so away from Mulder.

"I'm glad you came out tonight, Scully."

"I'm glad you—or Fox Mantle—asked."

Mulder chuckled, pleased with his own cleverness and her willingness to play along.

"You want to hear something a little sad?" Scully asked.

"You know I'm a sucker for the morose. Hit me."

"It's nothing like that," Scully promised. "This is more like a pathetic sort of sad."

"Okay," he said though he really didn't know where she might be going.

"This may be the most romantic date I've ever had."

"Date?" he asked before he had time to tell himself to let it go.

"I know," she said as if she were agreeing with him. "That's what makes it so sad. This non-date with you beats any other date I've been on by a mile. What does that say about me?"

"I think it says that you don't date the right guys," Mulder said bravely… or maybe stupidly, he decided, when Scully didn't speak.

Scully didn't say anything because she had nothing to say. He was right. He was absolutely right. There was only one person who could make her feel this good, and it probably wouldn't matter what they were doing at all. It wasn't really about the date, it was about the company. His company. She craved it so much that she was willing to drive out to a ball park on a Saturday night just for the chance to spend a few hours with him. She would have done the same for a few minutes. Truly pathetic.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"I didn't mean to offend you."

Scully laughed. "Please, Mulder, I think it would take a little more than that after all these years. Especially when you're right. I mean, my last date ran off with—"

"My last date," he finished.

They both had to laugh over that one.

"Really, though, they were perfect for each other," Scully observed. "Kind of funny how it took them so long to figure it out."

Mulder glanced over at Scully. She was staring up at the sky with her red hair pooling around her head. He decided that she maybe looked more beautiful in these particular moonbeams than he'd ever seen her.

"You know what I love about you, Scully?" he asked, feeling reckless.

She couldn't possibly imagine what jibe or joke she had coming her way. What insult he had ready at the tip of his tongue. She knew he had no idea how easily his next words might ruin this moment… or break her heart. When she finally answered, it was a soft, simple and true "No." After all, what could he possibly love—really _love_—about her?

"Everything."


	65. Truthfully?

Scully was afraid to look at Mulder because she knew the answers to her questions would be written all over his face. Had he really said he loved everything about her? Had he meant it innocently, platonically? Had it been even less than that, some gag for which he was still setting her up? Or—the scariest, but most appealing option of them all—had he meant it genuinely… romantically… and truthfully?

Mulder gazed at Scully. Her face was difficult to read because so many emotions flashed across it—Mulder had trouble keeping up. She also seemed to be holding her breath, maybe unintentionally. "Scully?"

At hearing her name, she inhaled deeply as if waking from a deep sleep. She suddenly sat up, but still didn't look at Mulder who pushed himself up and faced her, though her body was still turned sideways to his. He tentatively, gently placed his hand on her knee. "Scully?"

Scully slowly turned her head and finally let her eyes look into his. He shrugged slightly and raised both eyebrows at her. His look begged her for an answer, but she wasn't even sure of the question. Then he smiled. It was small, but hopeful. And she knew. The question and answer came simultaneously.

With little thought and no premeditation, Scully turned to Mulder and pressed her lips against his. At first, he was stone, but then he softened and moved toward her, his hand sliding from her knee to her thigh to her hip.

When her lips crashed into his, it took Mulder a moment to register what was happening. He had assumed if he wanted this, he would have to initiate it. This was almost too good to be true, but he wasn't going to take it for granted. He moved his hand up her leg, letting it rest finally on her waist, hoping to pull her in closer. He brought his other hand to her neck, his fingers weaving into her hair.

As she moved her own hands up to Mulder's chest, her mind finally registered what she had done. At this moment, Scully second-guessed. She pulled away and got up from the blanket without even looking at Mulder—not that she _could_ look at him. Ever again.

"Scully?"

She was up and almost off the blanket by the time he got to his knees and grabbed her hand. He tugged her back gently. "Hey, Scully, hang on."

She pulled against his restraint. "Mulder, I'm sorry."

Mulder released her then. She was sorry. He understood completely. She was sorry she'd kissed him. Sorry he'd kissed her back. Sorry to taunt him with any hope of returned feelings because she had none. He was such an idiot. He stood up and stared at her back as she walked away. He'd always known it would end up like this.


	66. Dana?

Mulder watched Scully jog from left-field, past third base, around the fence and to her car. She didn't stop; she didn't look back. He wanted to chase after her, to plead his case about why she could and _should_ be with him. But that wasn't what she wanted. Maybe she felt the intense attraction he knew they shared—that would explain the kiss—but that wasn't enough for her. _He_ wasn't enough for her. He couldn't and _wouldn't _argue with that.

Scully practically ran to her car. She drove toward her apartment without a single thought making it out of her typically productive brain. The cogs and gears didn't stutter back into motion until she had driven several blocks past her residence and found herself stopped at a light—a green light. She glanced in the rearview mirror, relieved there were no cars behind her, no impatient motorists to annoy.

Mulder twisted the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids. "Dammit," he swore angrily before he hastily shoved everything from his idiotic picnic into the stupid basket; he even stuffed in the blanket, crushing everything beneath it.

Scully sat there, staring at the green traffic ball. Her foot held heavy on the brake until the light turned red again. She realized her car was pointed in the direction of Mulder's apartment building; she was already halfway there. She wanted to explain herself—she _had_ to explain herself. How else would she be able to face him on Monday morning? She didn't know if she had enough courage for complete honesty, but circumstances left her no choice. When the traffic signal flicked back to green, Scully slipped her foot over to the gas and propelled herself forward… toward her frightening, but inescapable future.

Mulder threw the picnic basket into his trunk with such force that it turned onto its side, allowing the remaining wine to flow freely onto the dark and otherwise unmarred upholstery. He was beyond caring. He was disappointed—devastated, actually—about how the night had turned out, but he wasn't at all surprised… until he got home.

Scully sat in front of Mulder's apartment with her hands folded in her lap and her back against his door. In the five minutes she'd waited, she had resigned herself to what she had to tell him… so much so that she started to feel at peace with the whole messy thing. When she saw Mulder exit the elevator, she stood.

"Scully, what are you doing here?" His words weren't angry or accusatory. Rather, they revealed only his innocent and hopeful curiosity.

"I owe you an explanation." Scully walked slowly in his direction, wringing her hands in front of her.

"You owe me nothing," he replied, the déjà vu of these words, this hallway flooding him.

"Mulder, you're my partner," she told him, trying to compose herself.

"Yeah, we've been through all that. And it's okay."

"And you're my best friend," she said taking a few more steps toward him.

Those words nearly broke his heart.

"And because of that I feel like I owe it to you to be honest with you," she said as she took the last step toward him.

"Okay," he whispered, not at all ready for her honest rejection.

"Okay. Okay… so… I'm just going to say this, but then I'm going home, and on Monday, I hope you'll give me the professional courtesy any partner would."

Mulder nodded, but couldn't meet her eye.

"Mulder?"

With his head still pointed down, he lifted his eyes, though he was too wounded to look right at her.

"Up here, things are easy," she said as she touched her temple. "Up here, you're my partner and my friend, and I love the work we do together… and I love how well we do it."

Mulder smiled and found the courage to pick his head up and look her in the eye. "I love those things, too."

"But in here," she said and brought her hand to her chest, to her heart, "Mulder, in here you're the closest thing to a soul mate I can fathom… and… I just… love… you."

Now Mulder _really_ felt like an idiot. She loved him? Not as a partner? Not as a friend? She just… loved… him? For the second time in a week, Dana Scully left him speechless.

"I'm sorry to lay all that on you like this. It's really not fair to you."

"Scully—"

"But I couldn't keep lying to you either."

"Scully—"

"And I'm _so_ sorry for kissing you before," she added, her flight instincts starting to kick in.

"_Scully_—"

"I crossed a line that exists for a reason."

"Dana?" Mulder tried a different tactic to grab her attention. He took a step toward her when he finally caught her eyes with his. She backed away.

"I have to go, but I'll see you on Monday," she said as she turned to walk past him, to walk away.

Mulder spun around. He made a few go's at speaking before something finally found its way out. "It was Sodium Pentothal."

Scully turned back and looked at him curiously. "What?"

"Last weekend. I wasn't on E. You were, but I… I was given something else."

"Sodium Pentothal," she concluded.

"Are you familiar with it? It's… it's truth serum."

Scully chuckled. "I wouldn't exactly say that."

"Oh, I would."

"Mulder, sodium thiopental, commonly known as Sodium Pentothal, is injected intravenously. You can't just slip it into someone's drink. And even if you could, it's usually used for anesthesia because it knocks you out in less than a minute. Unless there's some new derivative I'm not aware of. Some sort of club drug version, which I _highly_ doubt…"

Mulder stared at her with a smile as she spoke, waiting patiently for her pause. When the silence finally came... along with that look of condescending curiosity he would never stop loving, Mulder said, "Forever the skeptic, Scully… but I think you're missing the point."


	67. The Point?

The point? The… point? She was missing "the point?" What point? Scully put her hand on her hip as her eyes narrowed. She searched for meaning in his words, her head tipping to one side in sincere consideration. What evidence had he presented from which she could draw any conclusion, see any point?

He believed sodium thiopental to be "truth serum," which was unforgivably silly—but specifically Mulder-like of him. On the night when he had allegedly been under the influence of this supposed truth-inducing cocktail, he'd said some pretty _un_-Mulder-like things. He'd told her she was beautiful, that he wanted her more than he wanted the aliens, that he was… that he was in love with her.

Mulder watched her face carefully as she sent out a mental search party to retrieve this "point" he'd insisted she had missed and easily saw the exact moment when realization came running up behind her alluring azure eyes.

"Mulder…" It was a statement and a question, a confession and an acceptance.

Mulder stepped up as close to Scully as the physical world would allow, and with his eyes, closed the remaining distance. He placed a gentle hand against the side of her face. "Like I said out there in left field, I really do love everything about you, Scully. Every single damn thing… from your ridiculously high heels to your skeptical red head. You're my perfect complement—that's complement with an e, Scully." He smiled as he let his forehead rest against hers. "Even if you can't _fully_ believe in it, I absolutely _know_ that you're my soul mate."

Scully felt fire rise from inside as it erupted in splotchy red patches all over her scorching-hot face. Suddenly, her second-guessing seemed silly. When Mulder looked at her, her prior inability to see feelings that were so obvious just felt like some contrived farce she'd forced upon herself to perpetuate her own misery. There was no doubt left in her mind: Mulder loved her back.

Mulder brought his other hand up to her empty cheek. "Scully, once before, in this same hallway, I told you that you saved me."

"I think I may recall that conversation," Scully spoke softly, "and a certain bee…"

"Don't remind me about the damn bee," Mulder teased, his thumb tracing from Scully's cheek to her lips. "You know, I was wrong about something I said that day… about you making me a whole person."

She started to pull back, but Mulder held her close. "It's more than you filling a void within me. It's that _together_ we make each _other_ whole. Together, the two of us, we make a whole and single… soul."

Scully smiled affectionately at Mulder. His belief in the spiritually supernatural made him so appealingly romantic. She decided that, just this once, she would let go of her fear and give in… to her fate. This time, it was Scully's turn… to believe.


	68. Homerun?

Their first kiss—their first jointly-anticipated, pre-meditated kiss—was a homerun. Not an after-school, sandlot, no outs, one-and-one, no one on, up by five in the top of the fourth, walk-off, solo kind of homerun. It was more of a Yankees away, game seven of the World Series, two outs, full count, bases loaded, down three runs in the bottom of the ninth, grand-slam kind of homerun.

It was really that remarkable.

Unlike Mulder, Scully didn't think in terms of baseball analogies. To her, it was a much more literal, sensorial experience. It was the seductively humble honesty she saw as he unabashedly gazed at her just before he made his move. It was the aroma of his spicy after-shave mingled with his own distinct pheromone blend. It was his lips crashing into hers a split second before her mouth could find his. It was the salty-sweet, heady flavor of wine and brownies and the sunflowers seeds he'd undoubtedly been crunching on his way home. It was the sound of the union of their staggered breaths as they parted only enough to take in sufficient oxygen to extend their kiss a few moments more.

It was really that captivating.

When they finally separated, Mulder kept his forehead against Scully's. He took a long deep breath and ran his tongue across his lips before he spoke. "Damn."

Scully nodded, pressing a comparatively chaste kiss just to the side of his mouth. "That was… "

"Yeah," he agreed to the non-statement as he stood up straight, regarding her with a look Scully had never seen him wear. It was beyond simple adoration and approaching full-on worship. "That was off the charts. I guess the Gunmen and their Love-O-Matic actually got it right."

"I think," Scully began in a tone that was sweetly contrary, "_we_ are the ones who got it right. Finally."

Finally, indeed. Mulder nodded and chuckled. "Should you… Do you… wanna come in?"

"Yes—I mean, no. No, I shouldn't—couldn't," Scully stammered.

"Yeah, no, of course."

"It's just—"

"No pressure, Scully. On any front. I mean, if you want to just forget this happened for the time being—"

"Shut up, Mulder," she said as she boldly closed the distance he'd created between them. She planted another hot and heavy kiss on him before she said, "I'm not looking to forget anything about tonight."

"Me either."

"Good," she said then took a few steps back. "Goodnight, Mulder."

"A _very _good night, Scully."

He watched her turn and saunter off toward the elevator. When it arrived and she got in, he was still staring. She smiled and gave him a weak little wave which he immediately returned. When the doors had closed and his soul mate was gone, Mulder placed a hand over his accelerated heart and felt it beating with a distinctly positive purpose for the first time… ever.

On her elevator ride down, Scully also sensed a shift in the gravity of her own little universe. Rather than feeling herself revolve around Mulder, she felt they were now tugging equally at one another to achieve something unbelievably important. She still didn't believe completely in soul mates, but she might be comfortable calling them cosmic partners.

Whatever they were, what mattered to both of them was that they finally… were.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm sort of opposed to author's notes at the end because, you know, I like to leave that last line floating all alone out there over the cliff. This time, though, I felt obligated to tell you that while this is the final chapter-a-day chapter, it is not quite the end of this story. At this point, the story shifts into what most would call "AU." Up until now, I think (read: I hope) this version of Mulder and Scully have existed comfortably within the constraints and canon of the show, but now they're going somewhere the show never gave them the chance to go... at least, not at this pace. I have this idea that if Mulder and Scully had ever really run into Ansel Holmes, had ever been nudged just slightly in this direction at just the right time, they would have found each other just a little sooner... and that would have made all the difference for them... it would have made all the difference for a lot of people. So we're going to stay close to them for a little while and get to a nice happy "the end," but then we'll zoom out a little, wrap up a bigger picture type story, and see the difference a few slight path shifts could have made for Mulder, for Scully, for everyone else involved. I know. Vague and confusing, right? Just hang in there and I promise, it'll make sense. Thanks SO much for reading!**  
**


	69. XXX Files?

**Author's Note: **Right, I know. The chapter number. The title. All coincidence, I swear. I hope you'll enjoy these last few moments on the way to a happy "the end." Reviews are always appreciated. In fact, they may even be obsessively checked for. Just saying :)

* * *

Several months passed before they made love for the first time. It wasn't because either of them particularly wanted to wait; it was just how circumstances had necessarily worked out. The first obstacle was that they'd instantly realized they would have to keep their relationship under wraps. While Skinner was far from the enemy, he was their boss, and they'd wanted to offer him a chance at the plausible deniability to which he had previously and subtly requested. Not that they were particularly afraid of the Bureau. Being fired didn't even seem like a threat to two people so newly in love; they saw life options they had never even been willing to consider before. Employment was not the issue.

It was the others that scared them much more: the Cigarette-Smoking Man and his shady shadow organization. It was certainly a group willing to use a relationship to its advantage. Even as work partners, they were susceptible, but if these men had any more than just the slightest inkling that Special Agents Mulder and Scully were officially and romantically involved, they would surely use one against the other at the first presented opportunity.

So they laid low. In the basement, they continued their work as normal. At first, Scully was much better at the charade than Mulder whose looks seemed to linger on her more and more each day. Still, it was only Scully who noticed. After a while, when she realized no one had bothered to give Mr. and Mrs. Spooky a second glance, she was slightly more lenient with herself. Anytime she could, she found a way to make physical contact with her partner. Sometimes it was the back of her hand against his arm or her shoe-less foot finding his sock-clad calf under the desk. On this day, while he sat as his desk studying a photo of an alleged UFO, she walked her fingertips along the exposed skin between the back of his collar and his hairline.

"I swear, Scully, sometimes I don't know if you're trying to turn me on or just torture the hell out of me."

"I have no idea to what you're referring, Agent Mulder," she replied coolly. "But, I was wondering if you'd like to stop by my apartment later to review some files?"

"Some… files?"

"Some _X_ files," she replied with a seductively arched eyebrow.

Somehow she made it sound more like _XXX_ Files. Not that he would lodge a single complaint against such a classification. But he wouldn't exactly grumble about their current circumstances either. Away from the FBI, they had nothing to hide. They'd spent many a night curled up on the couch (mostly hers), watching TV while eating meals that ranged from their typical takeout to several joint ventures into healthy home cooking, talking over a glass of wine or sometimes just snuggling up in comfortable silence. As it turned out, Scully really was quite the cuddler.

They'd also been out on several successful Mulder-planned, Scully-approved dates. These random romantic rendezvouses ranged from casual movie outings to dinner-for-twos at fancy restaurants to a night at the theatre to see the traveling production of L'Avare—a play Mulder had never heard of, but Scully had profoundly adored. These excursions gave her the opportunity to dress up and him the chance to freak out. The whole archaic process was actually incredibly healthy for both of them. It aided in the definition of appropriate boundaries and fostered the development of a genuine, non-partner relationship.

Regardless of whether they stayed in or went out, they always ended their evenings together with a mostly-chaste kiss at an apartment door. Not that there hadn't been more passionate kissing or touching or full-on making out. There had been plenty—an abundance, really. In fact, they'd found a comfortable sweet spot somewhere between second and third base.

Unfortunately, the proper progression of their relationship had been hindered by a few out-of-town cases, including one particularly unpleasant field trip to North Carolina that involved a man-eating, mind-altering mushroom whose acid burns took them both out of commission for several weeks. They'd since been back to work, and now Scully was inviting him to her place.

"So… you wanna come over tonight?" she asked again.

"Uh… " He smirked. "Uh huh."


	70. Riding a Bike?

**Author's Note:** I'll hope this goes over as "good awkward" not "bad awkward." Thanks IAmLoisLane for the beta-ing in the midst of real life. Feedback appreciated (and loved).

* * *

When Mulder got home from work that evening, he showered and shaved then put on the jeans and gray t-shirt Scully had picked out for him the time he'd been drugged and handcuffed to her bed. He figured, out of all his clothes, those were his best bet for tonight. Not that he was going over to Scully's with the expressed purpose of getting laid, but Mulder thought he should put his best foot forward just in case he had correctly read her subtext at work. Then he felt like an ass for being so presumptuous.

When Scully got to her apartment, she changed out of her work clothes and took a quick shower. She didn't make a big deal to herself about digging down deep into her undergarments drawer to find two nearly-new, rarely-worn items nor did she question her wardrobe choice of dressy dark jeans and a blue button-up top. She didn't even think twice about leaving the top three buttons of her shirt unfastened. She re-did her hair and make-up then slipped on heels that might have been completely unnecessary for a night in, but gave excellent elevation for activities like kissing vastly taller men. With a few minutes to spare, she indulged in a long, satisfied inspection in her full-length mirror. If her words in the office hadn't given Mulder enough of a hint, this surely would… and Scully didn't feel at all presumptuous in her assessment.

Mulder showed up around seven with a six-pack of Scully's favorite beer and one of those wraps she loved from the sandwich shop near the airport. Scully noticed his clean-cut appearance and inhaled the scent of his aftershave as he walked past her into her apartment. The extra effort on his part was a pleasant surprise.

"You look amazing," Mulder said in a voice he hoped sounded smooth. Dana Scully was always hot, but there was something extra special going on with the heels and the cleavage. In fact, presented this way, her beauty unnerved him.

"Oh… thanks," she said as if her appearance had been an afterthought rather than an effort. She grabbed him gently by the crook of his elbow, her thumb tracing deliberately across the joint. "You look extra handsome yourself tonight."

He couldn't believe she still had the ability to make him blush, but he felt the heat creep quickly across his normally cool, calm and collected face. He didn't want her to see him as the tense sixteen-year-old boy he felt like so he tried for a distraction. "I brought you dinner."

"No Reuben?" she asked as he laid out the meal on her coffee table, and she noticed there was only the wrap. "You're not eating?"

He shrugged as he popped the cap off a beer bottle and handed it over to her as she took a seat on the couch.

"Or drinking?" she asked before taking a long sip.

"Mm mm," Mulder muttered in non-commitment as he settled down next to Scully, his knee drawn over and his arm along the back cushions. Scully glanced at him, and he could see her suspicion had been ignited. What could he possibly say? The truth was he wasn't eating or drinking… because he was a nervous wreck. Maybe it showed and Scully felt sorry for him because she didn't press him any further. She just ate her wrap and sipped her beer.

An hour later, the food and drink were gone… as were most articles of their purposefully-chosen clothing. They'd made their way to Scully's bedroom—to her bed—where Mulder lay over her, enjoying the kisses she placed up and down the side of his neck.

"Scully?" he whispered through her hair, "You're sure?"

Scully reluctantly pulled her lips from his skin and met his eyes with what looked to Mulder a little like amused annoyance. Her face softened and she nodded. "Yes."

Mulder smiled and leaned in to kiss her; she pulled back. "_You_'_re_ sure, right?"

"M-me? Am _I_ sure?"

She nodded, her smile falling somewhere between complete seriousness and partial smugness.

"Well, Scully, I gotta admit, I was hoping it was _enormous_ly obvious how much I want this." He watched her with a sneaky sort of smile.

"We're a little beyond the point of innuendo, wouldn't you say, Mulder?"

"That wasn't innuendo," he said before he put his lips against hers.

"It wasn't?"

"It was pillow talk," he muttered through a partial kiss.

"So, you _are_ sure about this, then?" she questioned him again, searching his eyes with hers.

"Well, Scully, I'm a man of my word, and I promised you once if you ever tried to seduce me while you were sober, I wouldn't say no," Mulder explained.

"Oh, so I seduced you tonight, did I?"

"Clearly. But, then… you do that just by walking into a room…"

"Mulder…" She rolled her eyes.

"You have no idea how serious I am," he promised as he ran kisses from her jaw to her collarbone.

"You know, about being sober… I did have a beer," Scully reminded him.

"Can you say the alphabet backwards?"

She laughed. "No."

"Can you say the alphabet backwards when you're sober?"

"No."

"There you have it. You're good to go."

She started to smile, but then her brow wrinkled in concern.

"What?"

Scully started to speak, but hesitated.

"Look, Scully, I _am_ sure about this. I've never been more—"

"I know. Me either."

"Then what—"

"Then nothing," she cut him off.

"If something's wrong... or if you're not feeling—"

"I'm fine."

Mulder chuckled. "Scully."

"Mulder," she mimicked then tried to kiss him, but he leaned away from her and raised his eyebrows to demand further explanation.

She sighed. "Okay. It's just… I thought maybe I should say… that it's been awhile… since…"

"Since what?" he asked obliviously.

She answered with chagrinned silence and an eye roll.

"Oh…"

"Yeah…"

"Well, for me, too, Scully. I mean, but you knew that, right?" he said as he twisted a strand of her hair in his fingers.

"I don't know what I knew. And, I'm not saying I want to know anything. I just wanted _you _to know…"

"Well, hey, I want _you_ to know… that… I don't think either of us being out of practice is going to be a problem here tonight. Besides, I hear it's like riding a bike."

"I hope it's a little more satisfying than that," she teased.

"Maybe we should stop talking and find out."

"Agreed."

And with that, Mulder and Scully rounded third base and made their way home.


	71. Flips Before Hands?

**Author's Note: **As I always say when chapters have been posted close together, please make sure you've read the previous chapter. Of all the ones to miss, that would not be the one :) After this chapter, there is one more until "the end." Of course, I'm big on epilogues... and this story will have one (maybe even 2 or 3 chapters worth). Anyhoo, thanks to IAmLoisLane for beta-ing. And thanks to everyone else for all your reading (and reviewing).

* * *

Afterward, in the afterglow, Mulder marveled at the difference love had made to the act of love-making. Or maybe it had been _her_ love and _her_ love-making that had left him feeling so fulfilled. It was impossible to tell because there was no distinction between the two. The first time he'd made love to a woman he loved was also the first time he'd made love to Scully. Since there would never be another woman he loved, and since he would never make love to anyone other than Scully, Mulder supposed this would be just another one of his life's many unsolved mysteries.

As Scully lay in Mulder's protective and affectionate embrace, she knew he had been right about being her soul mate, knew Ansel Holmes really had been some sort of soul-matcher and knew this was her incredibly lucky romantic fate. She had no idea that sex with Mulder would so easily and instantly open her mind to extreme possibilities. In reality, though, she knew it had nearly nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with the love. She'd never been so sure of any emotion in her life.

Even with all that knowledge and certainty, she was still extremely glad this had happened at her place. Had they been at Mulder's, she might have run away. She was grateful, but sometimes distrusting of the good turns her life took, and innuendo aside, this particular evening had definitely been a very, _very_ good turn.

Here, in her bed, there was only a little room for doubt… and no real escape route. Scully was stuck, and she needed to be, wanted to be. These circumstances also afforded Mulder the opportunity to flee. That was important to her because, though she certainly sought it, she had no interest in forcing intimacy upon him. All these thoughts seemed rational and the scenarios felt tolerable as she was nodding off… yet she was still surprised by how far her heart fell when she woke up alone.

Scully took a deep breath, forcing herself to accept his decision to leave. She might have done the same, and it wouldn't have meant her feelings for him had faltered. She stood up and wandered over to her closet so she could slide her cold feet into her warm, fuzzy slippers and wrap her exposed body in her cozy, bulky bathrobe.

She wondered if, perhaps, it had all been a dream: the case, Ansel Holmes, the whole love affair. That's when she heard the whistling. She tilted her head to get a better angle on the notes that floated down the hallway from her kitchen. It couldn't be.

Mulder stood at the stove pouring banana pancake batter into a hot frying pan.

"Bicycle Built for Two, Mulder? Really?" she questioned from the kitchen doorway.

When he turned to look at Scully, he smiled at her appearance. She looked very much as she had the last time he made pancakes—blueberry pancakes—in this very same kitchen, but so much had changed between them since then. "Get over here, Scully."

He held out an arm so she could stand between him and the stove then handed off the spatula to her before he whispered, "flip." She maneuvered the spatula under the first pancake and turned it over. Behind her, Mulder moved to wrap his arms around her waist, but Scully pushed back against him.

"Flips before hands," she teased him.

Mulder laughed and waited until she'd inverted each pancake before he put his hands on her hips and nuzzled his head onto her shoulder. "Good work. You're a natural."

"First baseball… now you're teaching me how to make pancakes?"

"I guess it's the least I can do after your _extremely_ instructional lessons last night."

"Mulder..." she said incredulously.

"Like riding a bike—an incredibly intelligent and exceptionally beautiful… bike."

"Oh my God…" Scully cut her eyes, only faking her disgust when Mulder started whistling the Bicycle Built for Two tune again.

"You know, that song is about a man proposing to a woman," Scully stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Yeah? Well… the day's still young."

"Mulder!" Scully turned her head back so she could make eye contact. "That's not funny."

"Say the word, Scully, and you can have the best $49.99 drive-thru Vegas wedding money can buy."

"And I suppose you'll be dressed as Elvis?"

"Naturally… although we don't have to go to Vegas for that, you know," he promised then pulled up a lip. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

Scully scoffed, but spoke with absolutely no seriousness when she asked, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

Mulder chuckled then moved his lips against her ear. "Love, I hope."

Scully released a contented sigh as she turned to face him and wrap her arms around his neck. His hands clung lazily to her waist as he pushed his forehead gently into hers. Love, he hoped. She'd hoped for love once. His love. Now she relished in it.

"Love," she whispered. "Definitely."


	72. Greater Purpose?

**Author's Note:** I think I might have said there's one more chapter until "the end," but I forgot about this chapter. So NOW there's one more chapter until "the end." Then epilogue :) Thanks, as always, for hanging in there. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for beta-ing. And thanks to the kid in my class who will never read this, but who always has something X-Files related to say to me, which inevitably makes my day.

* * *

Things had gotten crazy for while—crazier than even Mulder and Scully were accustomed. Mulder had been sick (to put it lightly), his mental health severely affected by a rubbing taken from a purported alien craft. Scully had been to Africa and seen things she couldn't even begin to explain or understand. Diana Fowley had come back into the picture and had made her way between them as much as any psychotic ex-girlfriend could—she'd also sacrificed herself to help Scully save Mulder's life.

Not long after that ordeal, Mulder had lost his mother and learned what had happened to Samantha after her abduction. Scully had been there for him in every way, and Mulder couldn't even imagine what a wreck he would have been without the simple comforts provided by Scully's presence in more than just the work aspect of his life.

It had all been very difficult for both of them, but Mulder and Scully had survived. In fact, they'd come out stronger for it. Then life had settled down, and they'd found a routine of normalcy that neither had ever expected, but both eventually came to appreciate.

When Ansel Holmes called up Mulder at work one day and invited him to lunch, he had to say yes. They hadn't spoken since everything had wrapped up with what he and Scully now affectionately referred to as the "Love Bug" case. After their busted double date with the now-dating docs, Mulder had tried to contact him, but evidently he had been on an extended European vacation from which he just returned. Mulder couldn't wait to talk to him. He wanted him to know he'd been right—he and Scully were soul mates… and then some.

He'd considered inviting Scully along, but he so rarely got to talk about her—to really gush about how superlatively happy he was with her—that he selfishly snuck out of work in the middle of a serious paperwork session. She would not be pleased, but he'd find a way to make it up to her. Besides, Holmes had cryptically implied it was only Mulder he wanted to see when he'd said, "I have some relationship advice for you, Agent Mulder, which I hope you'll take."

When Mulder found himself at a café, seated across from the man who somehow seemed to have gotten younger in the months since they had last seen each other, he was anxious to hear what Holmes had to say. He waited patiently through the meal, offering up as many details as Holmes requested with no hesitations about adding his own elaborations when needed. It was a wonderful trip down memory lane for Mulder, but then he remembered why Holmes had asked him there.

"Okay, Ansel, out with it. You said you have some advice?"

Holmes' eyes twinkled. "Oh, of course. Yes, I do."

"What is it?"

"There are two things, actually."

When he didn't continue, Mulder said, "Okay, hit me."

"First," Holmes began, "there may be times when you think you should leave, but she asks you to stay. Even if it's important to you, even if you're sure you should go… trust her instead."

"But—"

"You don't need to argue. It's advice. Take it or leave it. Though, obviously, you know my suggestion."

"Fine. That was first, what's second?"

"If she ever tells you to go, but _you_ don't think you should—"

"Trust her."

"Trust yourself."

"You're saying don't _ever_ leave her."

"I'm saying don't ever leave her vulnerable because when you do, you leave yourself vulnerable, too."

Mulder leaned back in his chair, eyeing his dining partner. He felt a mix of deep curiosity and full belief.

"How do you know all this, Ansel? I mean, I get that you knew about Scully and me… and all the other pairs, but this is beyond all that, isn't it?"

"It's so strange. All this time, I thought I was fulfilling one purpose. Now, I feel, my real purpose is so much more."

"That's not really clearing anything up."

"Let's just say… you and Agent Scully… you're important. To each other, but also to me… to all of us… to everyone."

"So you're saying I need to keep her safe… for some greater purpose?"

"I'm saying you need to keep each other safe… for some greater purpose."

"Then why are you only telling me?"

"If you believe sharing this with Agent Scully will make some sort of difference to your ability to protect one another then by all means…"

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Okay, I see your point."

Ansel smiled as Mulder mulled everything over while he pushed what remained of his French fries around on his plate. "So… you haven't told me yet… what's this 'greater purpose?'"

Holmes chuckled. "It's intuition, Agent Mulder, not fact."

"Okay, yeah, it's definitely a good thing I'm not telling Scully about this… Except, now where am I going to tell her I've been all afternoon?"

"Hmm. Well, I may have the perfect distraction. You see, I happened to travel through Los Angeles on my way back here. I stayed a few days in order to check in on Henry. He's doing marvelously, by the way."

Mulder nodded. "I've been keeping tabs, too. He's doing very well at his new school. Straight A's so far this semester. And he's running cross-country."

"So I discovered," Holmes said. "At any rate, I hired a driver while I was there, and he told me he'd heard talk of a werewolf in Compton."

"A werewolf?"

"Glowing red eyes. Seven feet tall. Claws."

"In Compton."

Holmes nodded.

"Hm." Mulder felt that familiar flush of adrenaline-fueled inquisitiveness. "Scully's gonna love this."


	73. The End?

When Mulder showed up at Scully's door that night, it had been after he'd left the office early and inexplicably. He'd received a mysterious phone call then taken off while muttering something about meeting a confidential source. It was nearly midnight when Scully opened her apartment door to his insistent knocking.

"You know you have a key, right?" she mumbled as she let the door fall open.

"Yeah, but I kind of needed the effect," he responded.

She found him then with one hand behind his back and the other offering her a tacky bouquet of brightly colored daisies.

"Is this supposed to be your apology for abandoning me with all that paperwork this afternoon?

"You're being over-dramatic, Scully. There wasn't _that_ much paperwork." Mulder smiled and held the bundled flora out closer to her. She folded her arms.

"Not working for ya?" Mulder asked.

She only arched an eyebrow. Mulder tossed the flowers down the hall and pulled his hand from behind his back. He held out a box of chocolates.

"You're not serious?"

"No, of course not," Mulder responded and tossed the box away with the flowers.

Scully fought desperately against the smile that tugged at the sides of her mouth. "Out with it. What are you really doing here?"

"I can't just stop by and—"

"No."

Mulder sighed. "Okay, well, first of all, I just want to say that I love you."

"Uh huh. I love you, too," she told him as she watched him reach into his jacket pocket. "Now, what—"

He cut her question short when he got down on one knee.

She narrowed her eyes. He wouldn't dare.

He slowly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out… a pair of plane tickets. He held them up and waved them as he removed a file folder from inside his jacket.

"Special Agent Dana Scully… will you go chase a monster with me?"

She chuckled. "Now, that… is more like it."

"Is that a yes?"

"Agent Mulder, there is nothing in the world that would please me more than trying to disprove the existence of _any_ monster you decide to chase."

Mulder stood up and wrapped his arms around Scully, the case file grazing her back. "Plus, you know, I'm sure we can get a flight with a layover in Vegas. Werewolf-hunting would make one hell of a honeymoon."

"Did you just say _werewolf_?" she asked as she draped her arms around his waist to prolong their embrace.

"I've always found full moons extremely romantic."

Mulder could practically feel her eyes roll as she sighed out, "Oh, brother..."

The End

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope the story has gone where you'd like and has been what you wanted. Thanks to IAmLoisLane for all the beta-awesomeness. Thanks my real life friends for the real life encouragement. And, especially, thanks to all of you who have hung around all the way until "the end." If you have any interest, stick with me a little longer for some fun epilogue chapters. Oh, and if you're wondering why I'm putting this out today... well, I just watched the last episode of Bones season 6 on Netflix, and season 7 premieres tonight so... I was just feeling the whole "FBI partners turn into something more" vibe. I'm such a sucker...


	74. Epilogue Part 1: HusbandMulder?

**Epilogue**

What surprised Scully the most over the years was how easy it was to be with Mulder. She had always assumed a romantic relationship with him would come with the same frustrations as their professional relationship, but, on the contrary, while work-Mulder was selfish and single-minded, boyfriend-Mulder was cooperative and open-minded. While partner-Mulder was unrelenting in his quest, husband-Mulder was always willing to make time for her. And, while FBI-Mulder was as untraditional as they came, father-Mulder was the picture-perfect model of parenthood.

There had been difficult times, of course. Work got in the way often, and Scully had been determined not to ask Mulder to change who he was for her. But there had been a few instances over the years when she had asked him to trust her over his instincts. The first time, they'd just gotten back from Bellefleur, Oregon where Scully had been experiencing fainting spells. Mulder had wanted to go back to find an alien spaceship based off a tip from Alex Krycek. He didn't want Scully to go because he thought these aliens were specifically targeting previous abductees. Scully hadn't just asked—she'd begged him not to go. Not out loud, of course; that wasn't her style, but she'd made her wishes known. She hadn't had a gut feeling like that since she'd pulled him out of the path of gunfire in Ocala, Florida. He'd argued for about ten seconds then given in. It hadn't even been a bitter submission. He'd simply cut himself off mid-sentence, whispered that he loved her and went off to tell Krycek to find the damned flying saucer himself.

As it turned out, a large group of people—Billy Miles included—had gone missing the night Mulder would have been there. Scully felt certain Mulder would have been with them had he gone back to Bellefleur. But he hadn't. He'd trusted her. It had been just a few days later that she'd discovered she was pregnant with William, and she'd never been more grateful to have Mulder by her side.

Until the days following William's birth.

There had been threats, veiled, of course, but threats nonetheless. The curiosity over and pursuit of his son had inspired Mulder's own curious pursuit into things those hiding them would do anything to protect. In fact, Kersh had all but told Scully that Mulder would be killed if he stayed in town. Scully'd tried to convince him to leave, but he'd refused. He had also shot down the idea of the two of them going on the lamb with their newborn son. Scully had never been angrier. It had been their most difficult disagreement by far, but that time it was Mulder who'd begged for Scully's trust. She so rarely refused him anything, how could she deny his presence when all she wanted was to have him near her?

Of course, there had been danger associated with him staying, but no one ever came to kill Mulder. Scully couldn't imagine how she would have dealt with everything during the first few months of William's life without his father at her beck and call. They were an excellent and efficient parenting team. They were also protectors who were so well-equipped at keeping William safe that people eventually stopped trying to harm him.

The three of them had won the first of many battles they would encounter together.


	75. Epilogue Part 2: Empire State Building?

Author's Note: Back for a second round of epilogue? Awesome. And thank you. Also, thanks to IAmLoisLane for beta-ing this chapter and all the others. Also, don't forget: feedback rocks.

* * *

For Mulder, his relationship with Scully had always been easy. Had he not met Ansel Holmes, had he not believed in the man's ability to see and perfectly match two souls, had he not heeded Ansel's advice time and again, perhaps the choices would have been more difficult over the years—perhaps they would have even been different. But whenever Scully asked Mulder not to go off to chase aliens, monsters or bad guys, he trusted her enough to stay. When Scully had tried to convince him to leave her and their son just days after his birth just to save his own life—even though the hurt he read in Scully's eyes pierced him—he'd refused. He'd stayed.

His life had become strange to him after William was born… in the best possible way. There was light even in the deep down, hidden places where Mulder had assumed there would always be darkness. It replaced the tiny twinges of loneliness that had previously snuck in through the cracks every once in a while. And, love… what had once been shared by two seemed to joyously embrace the three with ease. William completed the picture. Mulder knew for sure that without William, his match with Scully had been wonderful, but incomplete. He knew she felt it, too, though they rarely talked about Ansel Holmes or soul mates anymore.

Mulder still thought of Ansel often though, despite the fact that they hadn't spoken since their lunch all those years ago. Mulder _had_ kept track of Henry Aaron. They'd been email pen pals since Henry and his mother moved to L.A.

Henry had graduated first in his high school class and not much worse when he'd earned his dual undergraduate degrees in psychology and chemistry from UCLA. While most people, including Henry's mother, had assumed he would pursue at least one advanced degree, Mulder had not been at all surprised to learn that Henry had applied and been accepted into the FBI's training program—mostly because Mulder had written him a letter of recommendation and had even coerced Scully, who still had the better reputation, into doing the same.

Henry had hunted down tips for Mulder for years. In fact, while still in high school, he'd often helped his mother in the records department of the L.A. field office where he'd filled two filing cabinets with "unexplained" cases. Now, he worked out of that same office, trying to explain some of the unexplainable with his own blend of science, profiling and an always open mind. Mulder was hoping to get him to D.C. within the next year.

Mulder and Scully already had help on the X-Files. They'd each chosen one person to help lighten the load as their priorities had shifted from their work to their family. Scully's choice had been Agent John Doggett, a no-nonsense former NYC cop who brought toughness and plenty of back-up doubt to the office. Mulder had scooped up Agent Monica Reyes from the New Orleans field office who was so open to the paranormal that she sometimes made Mulder look like a skeptic. Both agents had been hesitant to join such a controversial division, but after working on a few cases, they'd been devoted to Mulder, Scully and whatever cases showed up in the basement.

It wasn't help Mulder needed or wanted from Henry Aaron… it was a future for the X-Files. He'd been close to getting him transferred, but Henry had asked for a little more time to think it over, claiming he had some personal matters to get in order before he could make any big decisions like moving across the country. Mulder knew exactly what "personal matters" Henry wanted to take care of.

It's why Mulder was currently standing on the observation deck of the Empire State Building.


	76. Epilogue Part 3: Jumpers?

**Author's Note:** Sorry about that brief hiatus in the story. I wrote a quick little Bones fic called The Gaps in the Story. If you like Bones, please check it out (/shameless self-promotion). Thanks to IAmLoisLane for the quick beta on this chapter today. And, wow, if you're still here, then thank YOU :)

* * *

William Mulder was seven years old. He had bright blue eyes, auburn hair and stood just slightly tall for his age. He had been looking forward to his big trip to New York City for weeks. He'd been promised the Yankees, the Empire State Building, the Lion King and F.A.O. Schwartz. He was still negotiating the New York City Public Library. His mom said they may not have time while his dad, the deciding vote, said it sounded like "a real snooze."

Despite his affinity for the perfect synchronization of literature, architecture, research and history, William was a normal seven year old boy. He got up early on Saturdays to watch cartoons; the wackier they were, the more he laughed. He loved playing sports; basketball was the best to watch, but baseball was his favorite to play. He could never get enough dessert after dinner; he was sure his dad's brownies with his mom's Neapolitan Tofuti rice dream cream had to be the greatest combination in the history of the world.

While Will—a nickname that his father used more often than his mother—was normal in so many ways, he was, in very few ways, average. He could remember anything he read, anything he saw or anything that had ever happened to him. He remembered the day he was born. He started reading words when he was six months old, novels by the time he was two and college textbooks before he ever got to kindergarten. Now, he could read them all in six different languages. There was also the minor telekinesis, the burgeoning telepathy and the suspected teleportation, but those abilities were spotty and manifested themselves so minimally and infrequently that Will's dad never made a big deal about them… and Will's mom adamantly denied their existence.

Still, Will understood that he was different—and he loved that his parents never treated him that way. In fact, he loved everything about his parents. He loved his mom's red hair and his dad's tall stature. He loved the way his mom tucked him in every night and how his dad played catch with him whenever he asked. He loved how his mom answered every question he ever asked her (even if she had to look up the answer… which she had to do often) and how his dad always challenged him with questions about hypothetical paranormal phenomena (even if Will denied the existence of the topic at hand… which he did about half the time).

As much as he loved the separate traits and behaviors of his parents, what he loved more than anything else was watching them together. The way his dad lit up when his mom walked into a room. The way his mom would always start glancing at the clock when it got close to a time his dad said he would get home. And, boy, did he love more than anything else… the way they argued. His mom and her rational science were the steady, rhythmic base line while his dad and his crazy theories were the erratic melody that, when played together, made the most uniquely beautiful music he'd ever heard.

Will got in on the harmonious discord as often as he could, listening to each side and choosing the better one to stand on. Contrarily, if one parent was absent, Will had the habit of taking the opposing viewpoint just to make sure both angles were covered.

This is why, as his mom was carefully picking through magnets in the Empire State Building gift shop, Will was busy bugging her about the various paranormal phenomenon associated with the structure.

"The first suicide was a construction worker who helped build this place. He got fired so he jumped down an elevator shaft."

"That's nice," Scully said as she put one of the magnets in her hand back on the metallic wall in front of her.

"Before they put in the iron bars and mesh fences in 1947, people used to come here to off themselves on a regular basis," Will told her. "And they only put that stuff up because one of the jumpers injured a pedestrian."

"Jumpers?" Scully asked, tuning back in.

"Yes, Mom. People who were committing suicide."

"William, shhhh," she said glancing at a group of nearby shoppers.

"They haunt this building."

"No, they don't."

"Also, the Empire State Building is like New York's own Bermuda Triangle."

"What?" she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Between ten and fifteen cars are disabled within a five-block radius… every single day."

"Do you know how many cars there are in this city? Statistically speaking—"

"Statistically speaking, it's an anomaly."

"Can you prove that?" Scully asked him.

Will thought about it. "Not at this particular moment, but—"

"Get back to me when you can."

Will rolled his eyes, but couldn't help a smile. "Can I go find Dad?"

"Yes, but can we make a deal?"

Will raised his eyebrows.

"Don't mention that whole 'Bermuda Triangle of New York' thing to your father... and I'll make sure we stop by the Library tomorrow."

Will grinned. "You got it."


	77. Epilogue Part 4: Ansel Holmes?

**Author's Note:** Happy Holidays! Thanks to IAmLoisLane for her beta-ing.

* * *

On the observation deck of the Empire State Building, Mulder wasn't thinking of anomalous electromagnet energy or evidence of suicidal spirits. His mind was focused only on soul mates. He hadn't forgotten the appointment he'd made for Henry Aaron ten years before, and he just had to know how it would turn out.

Fortunately, Scully hadn't thought of the "Love Bug" case in years so when Mulder had proposed a weekend trip to the city to take in the revival of The Lion King on Broadway, she had enthusiastically accepted. Mulder's additional suggestion of a visit to the Empire State Building raised not a single of Scully's skeptical eyebrows, and if she and Will spent any more time in the gift shop, Mulder figured he might not get caught at all.

"Fancy meeting you here," a voice from the past greeted Mulder.

"No way. Ansel Holmes," Mulder responded as the man sidled up beside him.

"My curiosity got the best of me," Holmes admitted.

"Ditto," Mulder agreed. Unlike himself, who seemed to get more wrinkles by the day, Ansel Holmes looked exactly as he had all those years before… maybe better.

"How's life, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder smiled and tipped his head from side to side. "It's perfect."

"Dad? Dad! What are you doing? I need backup."

"Where's Mom?"

"Taking _forever_ in the gift shop. Come help me get her out of there."

Mulder laughed as his almost-eight-year-old son made his way over. He ran a hand through the boy's dark red hair and explained, "Mom can take as long as she wants, Will."

"Remember when we went to the Natural History Museum, and I got exactly ten minutes in the gift shop?"

Mulder pretended to consider it. "No."

"And there was _so_ much cool stuff to look at, and I couldn't even pick out one thing in the allotted time," Will whined over the injustice.

"Are you sure we've even been to the Natural History Museum?"

"Daaaaad…"

"Okay, yes, I recall that, but your mother is a lot older than you so she gets a lot more time," Mulder suggested reasonably.

"Quantify 'a lot,'" Will requested.

"_You_ quantify it."

"Okay, well," Will thought aloud, "We'll be generous and truncate my age to seven years. That means Mom is approximately six times my age, which means if I got ten minutes, she would be allowed approximately an hour. She's been in the store for at least forty-five minutes already so she should have no more than fifteen minutes more."

"If she's not out in fifteen minutes, I'll go in and tell her that, according to your calculations, time's up," Mulder promised.

"Nice try, Dad, but I think I'll just wait until she's ready."

Mulder chuckled. "That's my boy."

Will knew his mom ran the show—even from atop the Empire State Building. It wasn't because she was bossy or because his dad was complaisant—at least, not in a negative way. It was just their dynamic. At home.

At work was another story entirely. In the basement at the FBI, his dad made most of the plans, picked nearly every case and generally let his own passionate agenda motivate the direction of the X-Files. His mom always seemed to be along for the ride, challenging his dad's version of "the Truth" with science, logic and a level head.

"So who's this?" Will asked as he eyed Holmes who looked on with an amused smile. "Because you know we have a 'no talking to strangers' rule."

"This man's not a stranger. He's an old friend. Ansel Holmes, my son William. Will, Ansel Holmes."

"Ansel Holmes?" Will asked with a spark of recognition.

"That's right," Holmes agreed.

"The Cupid Fairy God Penguin?"

Holmes' laugh was more jolly than it had ever been. "I've been called worse."

"You know there's no such thing as Cupid, right?" Will asked him then turned his question—and his perfectly arched eyebrow—on Mulder.

Holmes laughed again.

"Evidently, skepticism is a dominant genetic trait," Mulder joked apologetically.

"Dad, personality traits are not genetically-linked," Will stated.

Mulder sighed, but smiled down at his son.

"Oh, there's Mom," Will said as he ran over to her.

"Uh oh," Mulder mumbled.

"Mom, Mom! Ansel Holmes is here," Will told her then took her free hand—the one without a gift shop bag—and led her over to Mulder and Holmes.

Scully's brow knitted as she walked with Will to the pair of men. Mulder took the plastic sack out of her hand then pulled Will over to him, hoping using their son as a human flak shield might help a little.

"What's he doing here?" Scully asked Mulder.

"Nice to see you again, too, Agent Scully," Holmes said jovially.

Scully sighed as her look softened. "I'm sorry, Ansel. It's nice to see you again, but my husband sometimes sets me up on these elaborate reveals for cases he wants us to work… and this is supposed to be a family weekend."

"I know, I know," Mulder promised. "Work is work. Home is home. And never the two shall meet, but, Scully, this is purely a personal interest of mine, I promise."

"What is?" Will asked, turning his head up to look at his father.

"Uh…" Mulder hedged.

"Wait. I know!" Will exclaimed. "It's Henry Aaron, right?"

Scully narrowed her eyes and looked from Will to Mulder.

"He's supposed to meet Katrina Weiss here in ten years… except that was ten years ago. So Henry's going to meet her today. Where is he?" Will asked as he looked around.

Scully folded her arms and stared at Mulder. Mulder smiled apologetically and shrugged. They both knew why Will knew all this. The previous summer, Mulder had decided to get all their case files in electronic form. Scully had been trying to get him to work on it for years so when he had offered to take off a month (vacation days he'd lose eventually anyway), keep Will with him (child care money they could save), and get everything scanned in (work she wouldn't have to do), Scully was fully supportive.

It was only after the month was up that Scully found out what had really happened. Mulder had Will feed the files, one sheet at a time, into the quick scanner he'd rented while he made phone calls in pursuit of cases he'd been out voted on in the office. When Scully'd found out about the child labor, Mulder had insisted that Will had volunteered for the job, and Will had backed him up. Scully had forgiven them, but she and Mulder quickly realized they'd both been duped by their son.

In reality, Will had been dying to know all the details of the cases they'd worked on over the years, but he knew his mother made sure his father only told him the bare minimum. When his father had suggested he help with the scanning, Will had volunteered to do it all. He was a voracious and speedy reader so he'd had no trouble tearing through the files as he scanned them. Because he had his father's memory (and then some), he'd easily memorized every detail.

Will still went through the cases mentally all the time, finding details that had been missed the first time around, suggesting alternate conclusions than neither of his parents had made. Mulder found his inductive reasoning skills impressive. Scully was just glad Will treated it as a cerebral exercise… rather than an experience that would scar him for life.

Needless to say, Will Mulder was a special boy. But his parents had known that before he was born, and while they treated his current X-Files hobby with two very different degrees of joy, they both took pride in his acuity. Besides, it was better that he used his mind for intellectual pursuits instead of moving objects… as he had been known to do in the first few months of his life. Not that Scully would ever admit such a thing had happened. Will was bright, but he wasn't Gibson Praise. Mulder and Scully were both grateful for that.

"Dad? Hello? Earth to Dad? Daddy!"

Mulder snapped out of his reflection and met his son's eyes. "Yes?"

"Where's Henry?"

Scully's eyes fell on a dark-haired man in his mid-twenties who stood on the observation deck. "He's right there." She grabbed his arm. "Oh my God, Mulder, he's right there…"


End file.
